


Fool for Love

by Abraxas



Series: Dangers Untold [2]
Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Brother-Sister Relationships, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Family, Grief/Mourning, Mythology References, Quests, Romance, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 71,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23968156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abraxas/pseuds/Abraxas
Summary: Sequel to 'As the World Falls Down'. Sarah must face a series of challenges greater and more frightening than anything the Labyrinth has to offer.
Relationships: Jareth & Toby Williams, Jareth/Sarah Williams, Sarah Williams & Toby Williams
Series: Dangers Untold [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722850
Comments: 30
Kudos: 44





	1. Mornings of Gold...Valentine Evenings

**Author's Note:**

> As with the previous work in this series, this was written many years ago and originally posted at FF.Net.  
> As with the previous work, it also need re-writing, revising...

_In days gone by_

_There was a king_

_A fool for love_

_And all it brings_

_So high and wise_

_Could read your mind_

_A fool for love_

_And love is blind_

'Once upon a time-'

'There was a very beautiful, very annoying girl named Sarah-'

'And a very handsome, very arrogant king named Jareth. And I am not annoying.'

'Hmm.'

'It doesn't bother you that I just called you arrogant?'

'I am the Goblin King. Arrogance goes with the job. Now keep still.'

'It tickles...'

Sarah bit her lower lip and tried to stop flinching at the feather-light touch working its way across and down her lower back. Literally feather-light - the tip of Jareth's quill flowed easily over her smooth skin. He paused, reading the words thoughtfully and fitting them with the melody in his head. A slight frown appeared on his smooth brow and, turning the quill so the feathered end rested on her skin, erased the last line. Sarah sucked in a breath, her back arching.

'Stop that,' he growled.

'Easy for you to say, Maestro. How hard can it be to write a song, anyway?' She stretched out, enjoying the coolness of the fine linen sheets, and propped her chin up on her hands, peering at him over one shoulder. 'As far as I can tell the Goblins make them up all the time in about five seconds flat. And you're supposed to be their king.'

'As the Goblins only know two tunes and most of their songs are about breaking things or chickens - or, if they are feeling especially creative, breaking things and chickens - they are not so much extending an entire repertoire of unique pieces as performing variations on a theme.' Apparently struck by inspiration, Jareth began to write again. 'If, however, you are like me, you demand perfection from all things. And perfection takes time.' He jabbed the quill emphatically.

'Ow!' Sarah rolled onto her back and looked up at him. The hazy early morning light, still determinedly making its way across the floor, enhanced the pale gold of his skin. 'So, when do I get to hear this masterpiece?'

He scowled at her. 'You've just smudged it all; you do realise that, don't you?'

Her eyes sparkled playfully. 'I'm just giving you more time to get it perfect. And time is one thing we have plenty of down here.'

He leaned over her, one hand either side of her head so she lay like a mouse trapped between a cat's paws. 'It certainly is.'

Sarah put her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to hers.

* * *

'So, basically what you're saying is that you have all of this, like, cosmic power and you can do pretty much anything you want, but you can't create a VCR?'

Jareth, controller of the Labyrinth, master of time, Goblin King, locked eyes with his prepubescent interlocutor. 'I did not say I couldn't do it, Toby; but in case you haven't noticed we do not have, nor do we need, an electricity supply in the Underground.'

Toby folded his arms and regarded him sceptically. 'Yeah, in other words, you can't do it!'

'Sarah...' Jareth rounded on her appealingly.

She held up a fork. 'Leave me out of it. You got yourself into this one...' She continued with her breakfast.

Jareth's lips curled into a vicious smile; his voice was oily. 'There are times, my heart, when I think it would have been wiser to leave you in the bottom of that oubliette.'

Sarah tilted her head to one side. 'And there are times I think that when you were an owl I should have taken the opportunity to have you shot, stuffed and mounted. You would have looked beautiful over the fireplace.'

'Ugh, get a room.'

'Toby!'

He had slumped down in his chair and was pushing his food around his plate; he yawned loudly. Sarah inspected him with mild concern - there were dark circles under his eyes that gave him a rather owlish look.

'Didn't you get much sleep last night?'

'I had an astronomy lesson,' he said though another yawn. 'Which was totally awesome, but I don't think it's fair that I still have to get up for lessons when I've been up all night.'

She suppressed a smile at her brother's complaint. 'Well, you did want Ambrosius to teach you,' Sarah pointed out.

Toby rolled his eyes. 'I know that. Jareth, was Ambrosius this bad when he was teaching you?'

'Oh, no.' Jareth's eyes glittered. 'He was far worse. I believe he's softening as he gets older - count yourself lucky, boy.'

Toby received this information with evident disgust and speared another piece of bacon with his fork.

Since Sarah had taken the decision to remain in the Underground she, Toby and Jareth had fallen into something resembling a normal family life. (At least, as normal as it could be for two mortals living with the immortal ruler of a magical land.) Not that Jareth in any way attempted to act as a father substitute to the orphaned Toby - and to an outsider their exchanges may even appear hostile - but a close relationship had developed between the two. To Toby, Jareth was mentor, elder brother, protector and sometimes playmate. And Jareth extended to Toby that fierce devotion he gave to those he loved the most. Jareth was a mass of contradictions, but Sarah had realised - possibly later than she should - that beneath his quixotic personality and habitual mask of hauteur his emotions were deeply felt and his heart true.

Not that she told him this very often, as he was, in her opinion, vain enough as it was.

She settled herself more comfortably in her chair and gazed out of the window. During the warmer weather their breakfasts had been taken on one of the terraces. The fact that the Underground had seasons at all had come as a surprise to Sarah: she had, somehow, imagined that it existed in a state of perpetual high summer. But autumn had come, setting the Labyrinth ablaze with deep russets, golds and flaming crimsons. And then winter had arrived: not the bleak, black and occasionally soggy season that Sarah was accustomed to, but long days that were icily cold, hard, clear and beautiful. The Labyrinth looked as though it had been carved from a glacier and sparkled with ice crystals under the morning sun. Great snowdrifts built up overnight and as Sarah looked out a small work party of Goblins - armed with shovels, and with brightly coloured scarves and hats added to their regular clothes - began to clear the gravelled pathways around the castle.

Jareth took great pride in showing off the beauties each season brought. He was part of the Labyrinth, and it part of him; Sarah wanted to love it for his sake and found that proposition far easier than she had imagined.

'You will love it in the spring.' His voice broke into her thoughts and she met his eyes with a smile, no longer surprised at his ability to know what was in her mind.

'I love it now.'

Those perfect, sculpted features softened. He reminded himself that Sarah's ten-year-old brother was still in the room with them; had they been alone...

A rustling sound in the corner of the room provided a distraction from these pleasant thoughts. The woman who had appeared so abruptly was greeted warmly. With her golden-blonde hair and glittering two-tone eyes, Delaine bore a strong resemblance to her brother. The Princess had lived for many years Aboveground and had achieved great success as an author of fantasy novels - most of which, as Sarah had learnt, were accounts of actual events in the history of the Underground and its neighbouring realms. Toby had been a huge fan long before he had ever met her and although he had not quite got beyond the stage of turning a delicate shade of pink whenever Delaine addressed him directly, he put on a great show of nonchalance as she advanced towards them. Delaine had been spending less time in the mortal world recently, but her appearance marked her return from a brief visit.

'I thought I'd find you all in here, you slackers! Some of us have been up for hours.' As time Aboveground bore little relation to time Underground, this was Delaine's idea of a joke. She dropped a flat brown paper parcel next to Toby. 'I thought you might like these.'

The wrapper, once displaced, revealed a number of comic books. His eyes lit up. 'Thanks!'

She beamed at him benevolently and skirted the table to sit next to Sarah. 'It's nice to be home,' she said, stretching out her arms. 'Jolly cold out, isn't it?' There were times when Delaine sounded as though she had just stepped out of an English boarding school from the 1950s; Sarah could only suppose that it was because, as a timeless and immortal being, Delaine had no real concept of what modern was.

'So,' Delaine's brother enquired, 'what fascinating news do you bring from Aboveground this time?'

'The usual,' she replied, daintily cutting up an apple, 'war, death, famine and pestilence. But everyone is talking about the latest conspiracy theory about the location of the Holy Grail.'

'Mortals,' Jareth muttered. 'Anyone with any sense knows perfectly well that the Grail is still in-'

A commotion at the doors drowned out his words.

'You cannot go in there! His Majesty is at breakfast!'

Feet scuffled against the floor until three beings spilled forwards: two Goblins and Sir Didymus. After the ferocious battle that had nearly destroyed the Underground, Jareth had insisted that Sir Didymus give up his self-imposed guarding of the Bog of Eternal Stench and had appointed him Head of the Royal Household. Arrayed in the ceremonial colours of black and purple and with a huge white plume curling up from his new velvet cap, Sir Didymus took his new duties very seriously. No-one was sure exactly what those new duties were, but Jareth was quite happy for the fox to invent them for himself as he saw fit.

At the moment he was vibrating with indignation and trotting after two Goblins who were ignoring his scandalised remonstrances. As they proceeded across the breakfast room Sarah recognised Börgis Khån - a lanky, fearsome-looking Goblin who was Captain of the Household Guard. The Goblin with him appeared to be female and Sarah guessed that this was Börgis' wife, Rêta. Among Goblins Rêta was considered a great beauty; Sarah could not see this herself but, as Delaine never tired of reminding her, the ways of Goblins are strange. Rêta was holding a squirming something to her chest that emitted ear-piercing shrieks at regular intervals.

The little cavalcade came to a halt in front of Jareth.

'Your Majesty, I informed my,' Sir Didymus pronounced the next words with great reluctance, 'brother-in-arms that the hours wherein thou shalt receive visitations hath not yet commenced!' His voice rose in the effort to be heard over the low growls emanating from Börgis Khån and the screeches from the writhing mound in Rêta's arms.

Jareth had pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply. 'It's all right, Didymus. Börgis!' Silence fell immediately following the bellowed name. Jareth, now standing, glared down at the Goblin. 'Well?'

'My son, Majesty,' Börgis replied in guttural accents, drawing himself up with pride and gesturing to the form Rêta clutched firmly.

'Congratulations!' Delaine exclaimed, peering over Sarah's shoulder. 'It's your first, isn't it, Rêta?

Rêta grinned at the Princess and extended her arms so that they could see. The child resembled an oversized walnut, with large bloodshot eyes and a vast quantity of spiky black hair. 'Oh, he's very handsome, isn't he, Sarah?'

'Er...' Sarah eyed the mewling infant. 'Yes. He's, er, cute.' She was about to extend a cautious hand, but felt a restraining pressure on her wrist. Delaine's smile was still in place but she muttered out of the corner of her mouth, 'I'd keep my fingers away from its mouth, if I were you.'

Jareth seized it, holding the squirming infant in one hand and examining it at though it were produce at an agricultural fair. 'What is its name?'

'Börgis,' said Börgis. 'I named him after me.'

The Goblin King nodded approvingly. 'Good choice.' The baby Goblin shot out a hand, grabbed hold of a hefty lock of Jareth's hair and yanked it sharply. Jareth drew back his lips in a grimace and released his hold, dropping the child unceremoniously into its mother's outstretched hands. Far from being outraged at the cavalier handling of her first-born, Rêta gazed up at Jareth admiringly and thanked him for the interest he had shown in her child.

Jareth grunted and draped himself elegantly across his chair.

'Well, if you two have quite finished...' Sir Didymus ushered the pair along the length of the room, scolding them all the way. Baby Börgis, now held over his mother's shoulder, stared back at the breakfast party, making faces at them.

'So, Börgis and Börgis Junior, huh?' Toby had been unusually quiet until now, apparently absorbed in his comic. 'Not very original.'

'Actually, the child will be Börgis the Fifty-third. Or is it the Fifty-fourth...' Jareth turned his head - one of those characteristically sharp, birdlike movements - and narrowed his eyes at Toby. 'Should you still be here?'

'Oh yeah. I still got time; it's cool.'

'Really? Then what, pray tell, is that?'

A flame had appeared in front of Toby's plate, dancing with sinister intent. From its black centre came a stentorian voice that filled the room. 'Toby Andrew Williams. You are supposed to be at your lesson, learning to read Ancient Runes.' Ambrosius' voice was slowly rising to a deafening level. 'I have been waiting for ten minutes. Put down that ridiculous picture-book,' Toby's eyes widened and he hid the offending item under the table, 'and come here. Now!'

'I'd hurry if I were you,' Jareth stated in his best drawl, 'before that flame sets your hair on fire.'

'He isn't kidding,' Delaine added through a mouthful of grapes. 'I remember one occasion-'

'Delaine!'

_'-terribly late-'_

'If you think for one moment-'

'-almost a year for it all to grow back.' Delaine looked at her brother smugly.

Toby slid off his chair. 'I'm going, I'm going.'

Sarah watched his retreating form and then stated emphatically, 'If, in years to come, he has severe psychological trauma it's going to be the fault of the both of you.'

The regal siblings exchanged questioning looks; Jareth shrugged lightly.

'Everything has been arranged for you, Sarah,' Delaine continued. 'You and Toby are booked into the Astoria Lodge and they are expecting you tomorrow.'

'That's great. And thank you for fixing it all up for me, Delaine, I appreciate it.'

Delaine smiled and selected another piece of fruit; from under lowered lashes she glanced sidelong at her brother. He was looking intently at Sarah. There had been some subtle but noticeable differences in Jareth since Sarah had come to live with him: he was as high-handed and demanding as ever and probably about as domesticated as he ever would be (which was not much), but his emotions were now expressed a little more readily and freely than they had been before. His smile was more frequently happy instead of sardonic.

Not that he was smiling now.

Sarah met his gaze. They had already discussed her visit to the Aboveground. They would discuss it again before she left, but not now. It would be a private conversation that both of them longed for and dreaded in equal measure. Sarah pushed her plate away and addressed Delaine. 'So, how is your new book coming along?'

* * *

Winter evenings in the Underground were velvety and deep indigo. The setting sun had bowed the day out in its usual spectacular fashion, painting the sky gold and purple before allowing the land to fall into night's shadowy embrace. Sarah had watched the display from the bedroom window and not heard him approach; she started slightly when she felt the heavy fur-lined cloak placed around her shoulders, gloves pressed into her hands and his smooth voice saying, 'Come.'

She turned to face him; in the few seconds that took he had moved them outside. Sarah shook her head slowly, trying to hide the smile at the corners of her mouth. 'I'm getting used to that trick. You'll have to think up a few more if you want to impress me.'

He tutted, looking down at her. 'Oh, Sarah - have you not yet learnt that issuing a challenge to the Goblin King can be very dangerous?'

She wrapped her arms around his waist and raised herself on tiptoe to kiss him. 'I took you down once, oh Goblin King; I can do it again.'

'That sounds promising,' he murmured, claiming her lips so that neither spoke for some time.

When Sarah was finally able to look around, she gasped slightly. The snow had frozen hard beneath their feet, yet against all odds tiny snowdrops had fought their way through and shivered, tremulous and delicate, in the keen breeze. They stood beside a pond, its surface turned milky white from the thick layer of ice; all around them bare trees stood, proud and stark against a sky whose stars glittered diamond-hard. The trees themselves were starred with tiny moving lights; at first Sarah thought that they were fireflies, but when one fluttered close to her face she realised that they were Fairies. They were far smaller than any she had seen before in the Underground; their hair was pure white and their glowing wings almost transparent.

Jareth took her hand and led her to the edge of the ice; the densely packed snow crunched under their feet.

'Impressive enough?'

'It's beautiful,' she confirmed. 'Although, if we're going to go ice-skating, skates would probably be a good idea.'

'Whoever said anything about skating?' He pulled her onto the ice, spinning her out across the frozen surface. Sarah gasped involuntarily, gripping his hand more tightly. She remained upright and perfectly balanced, however; her feet barely touched the ice and she skimmed over it effortlessly under the guidance of Jareth's controlling touch. Her arms spread wide, she allowed him to spin her in a wide circle. Sarah laughed, exhilarated, the chill breeze whipping colour into her cheeks.

Jareth did not seem to feel the cold: his red velvet jacket offered little protection against the cold night air and was wide open at the throat, his skin gleaming palely in the moonlight. His face was full of laughter, the way she loved it best. He spun her inwards and danced her across the ice, their bodies moving with the same perfect rhythm they had discovered unexpectedly in a crystal ballroom so many years before.

He watched her, taking more pleasure from seeing her enjoyment than anything else. After loving her and wanting her for so long, the fact that he had won her still seemed incredible to him at times. He had thought that having her with him always would ease the tempest of emotions she had caused in him. He looked at her flushed face, framed by the fur trim of her heavy hood. He had not thought that with each day he would love her and need her more. And tomorrow, for a time, she would leave him. Despite the individual's limited habitation of their world, mortals were careless of their lives and those of others. Jareth could not bear the thought that Sarah was placing herself at risk by walking among them once again. But the Aboveground was Sarah's homeland and it was natural that she should wish, occasionally, to return to the place of her birth. It was an entirely selfish wish to keep her to himself, Underground; but Jareth would have been the first to admit that he was a selfish being. His grip tightened and he pulled her to him, holding her closely against him.

'It's only for a few days,' she whispered and then pulled back, examining his fierce, beautiful face. Sarah hated the thought of leaving him as much as he hated the idea of her going. She and Toby had returned Aboveground only once before, to bury Robert and Karen. Their next visit was more for Toby's sake than her own: despite what the child said at present, he may not always wish to remain in the Underground as he grew older. And Sarah was determined that, should that time ever come, he would be able to make an informed decision about where he wanted to be.

'I will miss you,' Jareth said formally.

Sarah smiled slightly. 'And I'll miss you. But it will be much worse for me, you know; you can reorder time - then it will be like I've never been away at all.'

'Now that, my darling girl, is the first good idea you have had today.'

She narrowed her eyes in a failed attempt to look annoyed; laughter rose to her lips instead. 'I have another one - want to hear it?'

He sighed. 'As you'll probably tell me anyway...'

'We still have tonight. And not that this isn't fun, but it is very cold out here. I think we should probably go inside now, get warmed up.'

He cupped her face in his hand, his fingers lightly caressing her cheek. 'You're right - it's a very good idea.'


	2. All Things Must Pass

_There were more people at the funeral than Sarah had expected. Most of the staff from her father's law firm and everyone from Karen's real estate offices had arrived. Karen's sister had flown in from Seattle. Sarah had forgotten how alike the two were and it had been a shock when, for a few seconds, she had thought that her stepmother was walking towards her. Some of her former school-friends had come - a touching gesture that Sarah appreciated but viewed with an odd detachment. A large condolence card had been signed by all of Toby's classmates. He had read it and placed it in his knapsack, along with the few other items he wanted take back to the Underground._

_And then there was Sarah's mother._

_Her ostentatious performance of grief had been bad enough at the graveside - at the gathering at the house afterwards it was even worse. Linda Williams never failed to make certain that she was the centre of attention, and today was no exception. Sarah watched her across the room, noting the theatricality in every gesture, every word. She wove through the groups until she reached Linda's side._

_'Mom.'_

_Linda turned, placing a heavily ringed hand on her daughter's arm. 'Sarah, there you are. I was just saying to Teddy here...' Teddy, one of her father's colleagues, was on the receiving end of her mother's bewitching smile and had the slightly dazed expression of someone who can't believe his luck, '...how my heart simply breaks for poor little Tony.'_

_'Toby,' Sarah said patiently._

_Linda's smile didn't falter. 'Of course. Such a charming, old-fashioned name, isn't it? I've always preferred those to these modern, made-up sounding-'_

_'Excuse us, Uncle Teddy. Mom.' Sarah took hold of her elbow and steered her toward a quiet corner. 'Mom, today is not about you.'_

_'Sarah!'_

_'I don't want to fight about it,' she continued levelly. 'That's all I want to say. Just try to remember that, please?'_

_'Sarah,' Linda pressed her hands against her heart, 'I cared for your father deeply-'_

_'I'm not saying you didn't, Mom. But Toby has lost both his parents - he's the one we should all be thinking about right now.'_

_Linda's dark eyes wandered over the gathering, alighting on Toby's small blonde form. 'I suppose Karen's sister will look after him now,' she commented._

_'No. Toby will be coming back with me.'_

_Linda gazed at her daughter, speechless for a moment. 'Sarah, sweetie, you're still really young. You don't want to-'_

_'Saddle myself with a child like you did?'_

_Linda caught her breath, her face hardening._

_'Don't worry, Mom. Toby and I will be just fine.'_

_Sarah walked away, responding mechanically to the greetings and words of sympathy that drifted toward her. It had been a cruel thing to say, perhaps, but neither Sarah nor Linda could deny the truth of those words. Or the fact that for years they had pretended to have a relationship that no longer existed. The atmosphere in the house was stifling and Sarah stepped out into the garden; the sky was overcast and the air felt damp and cool. The only decent black dress she owned was too warm for this weather; she could feel the lining sticking to her clammy skin. She made banal small talk with some of her parents' friends and wished that she had accepted Jareth's offer for him and Delaine to accompany her. The thought made her smile. Delaine could have pulled it off - just. But there was nothing that Jareth could do to himself that would make him blend into the crowd; she imagined the expression on everyone's faces with those two exotic creatures in their midst. She felt a small hand creep into hers and smiled down at Toby. He had clung to her at the burial, keeping tight hold of her hand and standing very straight. Sarah gently squeezed the small fingers curled in her own._

_Toby was feeling extremely bored and extremely frustrated. If just one more person looked at him tearfully and patted him on the head, he was quite sure that he would bite their hands off. If he had Jareth's power he could turn them all into Goblins; that idea kept him amused for a few minutes until he started to have the feeling that someone was staring at him. Toby looked over his shoulder and then tugged at Sarah's hand._

_'What?' she asked softly._

_'There.'_

_Sarah looked behind them._

_No-one else had noticed the fact that a large white owl was perched on one of the low branches, watching the proceedings intently. Sarah looked down at Toby; he grinned back up at her._

_When flecks of rain began spattering the garden and the guests, they went inside - all but Sarah and Toby. Together, they walked across to the tree; the owl kept its gold-ringed eyes focused on them. As they drew near it tilted its head to look at them, twisting it until it was almost upside down. Toby giggled and it immediately righted itself, ruffling its feathers and clicking its beak._

_'You just couldn't stay away, could you?' Sarah said conversationally. The reply was a flurry of white wings; Sarah instinctively - and hurriedly - held out her arm. He landed lightly but she could feel the faint prickle of talons through the sleeve of her dress; he placed his feet delicately, evidently taking care not to hurt her. Toby scratched him at the back of the neck, his fingers burrowing through the thick, creamy feathers._

_'Oh, he's so cute! I think I'll call him Jareth. Hey, Sarah, can we keep him?'_

_The owl looked at him sourly._

_'Don't push it, Tobes, he can take it out on you in other ways.'_

_'I'm just joking,' Toby replied, now gently stroking the snowy breast, 'he knows that.' As if in agreement, Jareth-the-Owl gave Toby's fingers a quick affectionate nibble._

_Her arm was starting to sag under the weight of his body; he hopped nimbly up to her shoulder. Sarah turned her face toward him, feeling the soft warmth of feathers brushing against her cheek. 'We'll be home soon,' she whispered. 'Soon. I promise.'_

* * *

The hotel receptionist did not seem to notice anything strange about their arrival. One moment the foyer had been empty and the next he had been looking at a young woman and a small child.

Delaine had booked them into one of the more exclusive hotels and, they were assured, any friends of the famous Miss King were guaranteed to have an extremely pleasant stay. Sarah only half-listened to the obsequious greetings, accepted them graciously and then followed the porter up to their room.

Their suite, rather. Delaine did not do things by halves.

The porter launched into an explanation of the workings of the air-conditioning, the TV system and assorted other trappings. As he spoke his eyes were drawn irresistibly to the ring on her left hand. At home, in the Underground, it looked very beautiful but perfectly normal. Aboveground, however, it glowed with its own inner light. Elven silver inlaid with a single hair from a unicorn's tail surrounded a luminescent pearl that had been harvested by the Chief Merman himself. The wearing of a ring as a sign of betrothal was not traditional in the Underground, but Jareth - out of respect for Sarah's mortal heritage, as he had put it - had had the ring made especially and had presented it to her with great ceremony. Sarah wore it with pride, but under the porter's somewhat dazed scrutiny, she put her hand in her pocket. He shook himself, as though coming out of a dream.

'Uh, if you need anything, just dial 0.'

'Thanks.' Sarah handed over the obligatory tip and sighed with relief when they were finally on their own. The lighting veered erratically from blinding to gloomy and every gradation in between; Toby had discovered the dimmer switch and lowered his hand guiltily when Sarah turned long-suffering eyes on him.

Their rooms were fairly large and stylishly furnished - the sort of place that looks good in glossy photo-shoots and the sort of place that Sarah had once aspired to be able to afford to stay in. It paled in comparison to the lavish elegance of Jareth's castle. Toby was amusing himself by opening and investigating every drawer and cupboard. Sarah picked up the newspaper from the sideboard and cast an idle eye over the front page. Something sunk into her brain and she reread the title line more closely then stood staring stupidly at the black print.

'It can't be ten years,' she murmured aloud, 'it just can't be.'

'What's ten years?' Toby demanded. Receiving no reply, he stood on tiptoe and peered over Sarah's arm until he could read the cover of the newspaper. His eyes landed on the date. 'No way! It's two-thousand-and-six? That means I should be twenty. And you'd be...' He looked up at her. 'Whoa, you'd be really old...'

Sarah rolled her eyes. 'Yes, thank you, Toby.' Delaine had made all the arrangements for them, she must have known... Sarah made a mental note to have a word with her soon-to-be sister-in-law. And a word with her soon-to-be husband, for that matter. For people who had the power to control time, they didn't seem to have quite got to grips with judging how much of it had actually passed. She folded up the newspaper and, gathering her jacket, her bag and her brother, headed for the door.

* * *

Unlike the Underground, it was the middle of summer in this particular corner of America. As they walked along city streets the temperature climbed in proportion to the noise level of the traffic. Despite the sticky heat and the dirt, there was a certain buzz from being in the crowds and negotiating the busy sidewalks - Sarah experienced a brief pang of guilt; it seemed almost like a betrayal of Jareth and the Underground that she should enjoy it so much.

But this had been a part of her life for a long time, she rationalised; and it was only natural that she would slip back into her old way of living. And there were parts of life Aboveground that she would miss...

Toby's determined pulling on her arm and his whine that he was hungry brought her back to reality. He had already found the place where he wanted his lunch; Sarah looked up at the familiar golden M emblazoned on red and grimaced.

On the other hand, there were lots of things she didn't miss about life Aboveground...

Once lunch was over - and she had managed to prise an oversized coke from Toby's hands - the pair continued their investigation of the city. Sarah was reminded of the old saying: everything changes, everything stays the same. There were more mobile phones and even more cars - if that were possible. Variations from the fashions she remembered and a great many people walking along, trying to pretend that they were not in the middle of a crowd of other people who were all trying to ignore each other. Jareth, no doubt, would have some pithy comment about this.

As an experiment, Sarah decided that she would see how long she could go without thinking about him.

They turned into a bookshop, both of them enjoying the air-conditioning and the tranquil surroundings. Sarah eyed the shelves greedily: the castle's library was extensive, but it lacked both modern literature and what she euphemistically termed light reading. Browsing the shelves had always been one of her favourite pastimes, and she was more than happy to idle away a few hours looking up old favourites and discovering new ones. As she perused the European literature section, Sarah became aware that she was being shadowed by someone - he had the assumed intensity of the grad student, complete with nonchalantly draped scarf, goatee and black-rimmed glasses. Sarah smiled to herself. He was either studying English lit., philosophy or - worst of all - taking a writing course. She had dated enough of the species in her time to know how any conversation with him would proceed; she made a bet with herself over what his opening line would be.

Her would be suitor was intercepted by her brother who brandished a book under her nose.

'Look! Read that!'

'What, all of it?'

He huffed at her. 'Don't be stupid; just read the back.'

The book had a simple black cover, with only the title and the author's name embossed in silver. Delaine King. Sarah shook her head slightly but dutifully turned the book over and started to read the back cover.

_'An ancient enemy stalks the land..._

_A war looms that could destroy centuries of peace..._

_The only hope for the Goblin kingdom lies in an alliance between the King and the mortal girl he loves. The girl who sees him as her sworn adversary...'_

Sarah stared at the words for a while. It was a small consolation that Delaine hadn't opted for the lurid, Technicolor illustrations that usually adorned the covers of fantasy novels. She hated to think what an artist's interpretation of herself and Jareth would be...

'Cool, huh?' Toby said, grinning. 'Can I get it, Sarah? Please?'

His face was turned eagerly up to hers; she breathed heavily. 'Fine. Whatever.'

The list of things to talk to Delaine about when they returned was growing longer by the second.

* * *

By the time Sarah crawled gratefully into bed that night, she felt exhausted. There were twinges of stiffness from walking the pavements all day; it had taken a prolonged immersion in the bath before she had been able to remove all traces of city grime from her skin. Despite the initial shock after their arrival, Sarah had found herself enjoying being back Aboveground far more than she had expected. Yet despite the familiarity, she felt almost like a tourist. She was visiting a place that she knew and loved but she was just that - a visitor. The Underground was her home now and the confirmation of this knowledge was oddly comforting.

She wrestled her pillow into submission and stared upwards at the darkened ceiling.

They had had an enjoyable if uneventful day. The only painful moment had been when they had gone to the cemetery... The graves were well tended and she and Toby had laid fresh flowers on each. A large bouquet of yellow roses, Karen's favourite. Their scent was fresh and sweet in the humid air.

'If you want to talk to them for a while, that's okay.'

Toby dragged his eyes from the inscribed headstones. 'They're just bits of rock, Sarah. Can't really talk to rocks. Unless you're Ludo.'

'I guess not. Maybe we shouldn't have come.'

'No, I'm glad we did.' He turned his eyes to hers. 'Can we go now?'

Before they left she briefly laid her hand on top of her father's headstone; the marble was surprisingly warm.

After that the most notable occurrence came as Toby was flicking through TV stations and suddenly exclaimed, 'Hey, isn't that your mom?'

Sarah, in the middle of towel-drying her hair, crossed the room and then sat next to him on her bed. The programme looked like a soap opera - and the woman in question was indeed her mother. She had evidently had something done to her face - it was strangely immobile and she wore a permanent expression of faint surprise. Linda Williams had always referred to soap stars in the most scathing terms; according to her - a serious, theatrical performer - they were not proper actors. The passage of a decade must have necessitated a change of opinion.

Sarah turned up the volume and watched a few moments of the show before handing the remote back to Toby. The last time she had seen her mother had been at the funeral; she wondered what, if anything, Linda made of the fact that her daughter had been missing for ten years. She may not have even noticed. For a moment Sarah toyed with the idea of ringing her but then dismissed it. Her mother belonged to a life that no longer existed and Sarah had no desire to try to return to it.

Sarah rolled onto her side and stared at the empty pillow and the expanse of cool white cotton next to her. She had never been very good at sharing a room, much less a bed, with another person; somehow with Jareth it was different. She found herself missing his familiar, comforting warmth and steady breathing. She missed his scent that evoked both summer afternoons and cool glades under moonlight at the same time and the sound of his heartbeat when she rested her head on his chest. Without him Sarah felt empty and only half-alive; she was conscious of a restlessness that she knew would only quieten when she was back with him. She closed her eyes and relived the intensity and tenderness of the night before, recalling every touch, every whispered word. She ached for him. Such thoughts and memories did lull her into a waking doze full of tantalising images and breathless laughter until, eventually, she fell into something deeper.

But when she woke her skin was damp and her heart was hammering against her rib cage. She seemed to have been involved in a vicious fight with the bed sheets - they were twined around her legs so that she could barely move. She kicked her way free and grabbed the glass of water from the night-stand; her hands were shaking so badly she needed both of them to guide the glass to her mouth and even then she spilled half the contents. The images of the nightmare that had imprinted themselves on her mind so clearly only a few seconds before were already fading - but she was still left with a deep sense of unease. She tried to tell herself that it was nonsense; but even as her heart rate slowed to normal, she could feel that cold hollow in the pit of her stomach.

Sarah switched on the lamp and screwed up her eyes, the sudden light painful after the darkness of the room. She padded across to the mirror that hung over the dressing table.

'Jareth.'

She had spoken softly, barely above a whisper, but still glanced over her shoulder towards Toby's room; there was no sound.

'Jareth.'

There was still no answer; she turned away from the mirror, addressing the room at large in a slightly louder tone. 'If you're sleeping, I'm really sorry if I'm waking you up, but I really need to see you right now.'

She wrapped her arms around herself, starting to feel a little foolish; but her need to see him had gone beyond the simple desire for comfort, she had to see that he was safe and well...

'Sarah.'

She spun around. The eyes were his, though the voice was not. Her surprise at seeing Delaine was superseded only by her surprise at the Princess's dishevelled appearance. Her blonde hair was dirtied and straggled around her scratched face; her clothes were dusty, ripped and smeared with what looked horribly like blood...

The night-terrors that had woken her came flooding back. 'What-what's happened?' She didn't want to hear the answer. But it couldn't be that... He couldn't be... She would know; she would feel it, surely...

'You have to come home. Jareth...'

'He's not dead!' Her voice sounded unnaturally loud.

Delaine's face crumpled like a child's. 'Oh, Sarah...'


	3. Happened Oh So Quietly

Delaine breathed deeply, struggling to keep herself under control; even so, her voice shook slightly as she spoke. 'A work party was clearing one of the passageways; there had been a heavy snowfall during the night and-' She moistened her parched lips. 'The passageway collapsed. It was awful, Sarah - the Goblins were trapped, some of them were already crushed. We went straight down there, to get them out and-'

'What's going on?' Toby, his voice plaintively indignant and his face still heavy with sleep, was scrubbing at one eye and staring at his sister questioningly. He caught sight of Delaine and for a moment his eyes widened with pleasure - the look soon fled from his face.

'Toby.' Sarah held out a hand to him; her voice was brittle and she did not take her eyes from Delaine's face.

'There was another collapse. Jareth was buried under it.'

Sarah forced her lips to part, forced herself to speak. 'I don't understand. Jareth controls the Labyrinth, how-how...'

'After the last battle there are areas that are still unstable, they haven't fully healed yet... It happened so quickly, Sarah, there wasn't time for anyone to do anything. We got him out, but...' Her voice was starting to break. 'He's so badly hurt. You have to come home.'

Hurt. Not dead. Terror and relief combined to make her feel limp, but she refused to allow herself to buckle. Toby had flattened himself against her and she gripped his slender shoulders firmly. She nodded at Delaine wordlessly.

The room rushed inwards; there were a few seconds of dark, blurred images and then it all rushed outwards again, reforming itself into the cool, high-ceilinged bedroom she and Jareth shared. Her eyes sought the huge four-poster bed...

It was empty.

The covers had been neatly drawn back and the pillow was rumpled, as though someone had just got up.

Bewildered, Sarah turned to Delaine and was met by a look of blank incomprehension.

'I thought you said he was sick.' Toby's voice was shrill in the still morning air.

'I...' Delaine turned to them but her words trailed away. None of them had been aware of the noise at first; from somewhere in the distance it came, the notes rising and falling but growing louder. Sarah recognised the sound - the beginning of a Goblin lament. A song for the dead. But there was a quality to this one that she had never heard before. And Delaine's already pale face had taken on the lifeless hue of wax.

The world around them changed again. Cold air hit Sarah's face. The shingle beach was barren, the pebbles glistening with a layer of frost. At the shoreline the waves had frozen in place, their peaks standing like delicate prisms in the morning light.

Under normal circumstances Sarah would have admired the beauty of the sight.

There was a gap in the ice formation, as though something had broken through that barrier.

'No...' Delaine's eyes were fixed on a point beyond the frozen waves, where the water currents flowed unimpeded. The boat, its sail swelling in the breeze, was already beyond the breakwater, but it was still close enough that they could make out its details. Three figures, heavily veiled, stood, fragments of their song borne back on the wind to the watchers on the shore. And they could see the form lying on the bier, the pale winter sun picking out the gold of his hair like a crown.

Sarah started to run. The shingles shifted under her feet; she lost her balance more than once and used her hands to right herself, slicing the palms on the sharp contours of the stones. Delaine cried out and started after her.

'Sarah! No, you can't!'

She was unaware of everything, save the fact that she had to get to the boat that was taking him away from her.

Delaine's arms closed around her clumsily and they both fell.

'You can't... Sarah, you can't follow him. He's gone.'

* * *

_The autumn leaves were like the finest slivers of amber and Sarah watched their falling with a mixture of admiration and melancholy. She heard his footsteps approaching and, with an effort, turned to greet him with a smile._

_Jareth had always been able to read her moods; what he saw behind her eyes troubled him. 'You seem sad today,' he said softly._

_Her smile faltered. 'I'm fine. Really.' His head tilted to one side thoughtfully; that owl-like stare of his had always had the ability to penetrate to her very core._

_'What is wrong?'_

_She brushed invisible hairs from her face. 'I just... It's nothing.'_

_'You have doubts. You regret your decision to stay.'_

_'Y'know, if you're going to answer your own questions, you really don't need me here for the conversation. And no,' her grey eyes wandered over his face, 'I don't regret anything; it isn't that.'_

_He moved closer to her. 'Then what?'_

_'I...' She tried to bury the thoughts, tried to stop the words but they came out anyway. 'You're immortal; and I'm not. I'll get old, Jareth, and it will happen so quickly. You'll still be you, the way you are now, and I'll have grey hair and wrinkled skin and I might not even remember who you are and...' And perhaps she was only the latest in a long line of girls - mortal or otherwise - who had shared his castle. 'And you'll want someone else instead of me. Forever sounds like a long time, but forever is something different for you than it is for me, isn't it?' She pressed her hands against her face. 'I'm sorry. I'm being stupid, I know that, I just...'_

_He did not interrupt her; nor he did deride her fears, either spoken or unspoken. 'I have not spent every night of my life on my own,' he stated after a moment. 'But I have always lived alone.' Not sure where he was going with this, Sarah kept silent. A glimmer of that sardonic smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 'Would it reassure you to know that despite my many centuries of living, the list of my ... companions ... is fairly short? I do not love easily, Sarah. And after having gone to so much trouble to get you, do you think I would give you up to anything, even time?'_

_'So what, you can make me live forever?'_

_'No.' There was a wistfulness in his eyes. 'I cannot do that. But by coming here to the Underground your life span - and Toby's - will be greatly extended. Toby will grow up and you will both grow older, that I cannot prevent. But illness and the worst ravages of time will not touch you. And when the time comes...' He rested his fingers lightly against her cheek. 'We will cross the waters together. But that day is very far off. Besides,' the sudden severity in his tone was belied by the spark of humour in his eyes, 'I should be offended at your assumption that I will become bored with you. It may very well happen that you will no longer wish to be with me.'_

_A hot denial sprang to her lips, but she suppressed it and answered lightly, 'I may do. I might run off with an Elf.'_

_'Better an Elf than a Goblin.' His arms went around her waist. 'In that case, I had better make sure that you receive my utmost attention.'_

_Her face was slightly crooked when she smiled. He loved it when she smiled. 'Yes, you better had.'_

_When he spoke again the flippancy had died from his face; his mood, as always, coming and going as fast as summer lightning. 'I will never leave you, Sarah. Believe that.'_

* * *

'Why didn't you stop them? Why did you let them take him?' It was Delaine who spoke, her normally mellow voice now strident and harsh.

Ambrosius raised his head; there was reproach in neither his look nor his words. 'I had no authority to stop them, Delaine. You know how it works.'

'He wasn't dead,' Delaine continued in a more moderate tone. She glanced over at Sarah. 'And I don't believe that he would have chosen to leave.'

The brunette had been worryingly silent since they had returned to the castle. In truth, those awful moments on the frozen beach were a blur to Sarah. She remembered feeling the sharp points of stone pressing into her legs and the churning nausea that had gripped her. It was only seeing Toby that had brought her back to herself: still in his pyjamas, his feet bare on the cold shingles and his face pale and oddly blank. She had scrambled to her feet and made her way to him.

'Where are they taking him?' He looked at her so trustingly, believing her to have all the answers. 'He'll come back, won't he?'

She had knelt down and hugged him, holding him to her tightly; her eyes were burning but no tears fell. She refused to weep. Not now. Not yet.

'Didn't you tell me once that when someone dies here their family aren't the ones who ... make the arrangements?' Sarah had not spoken for so long her voice sounded rough when she did.

Delaine passed a hand over her face and then sat down. 'Yes. The task usually falls to...' She groped for the right word. 'An executor, I suppose you could say.'

'So who was that? Who made the choice?'

Delaine's eyes moved automatically to Ambrosius and then fell; her face flushed red and she hated herself for that suspicion. But between the time of her leaving to find Sarah and their return to the Underground, something had happened.

'Jareth was as dear to me as a son,' Ambrosius said mildly. 'I am not of his blood but I view him - and you - as family.'

'I know.' When Delaine looked up again her face was controlled. 'You are family, Ambrosius. I'm sorry.'

Curled up in a corner of the room, Toby watched all of them. They were holding their little meeting in Jareth's study. The heavy curtains had been thrown open and the pale winter light flooded the room. Toby remembered the first time he had ever been here - the very first night he had been taken back to the Underground and Jareth had told him about magic and danger and Sarah and hope. It seemed wrong that they should be in here when he wasn't.

Delaine had changed her dress, which Toby was glad about. While she still had it on, he hadn't been able to stop staring at the stains on it. So much blood. He wondered if it had all been Jareth's, but didn't want to ask. There were still streaks of dirt on her cheeks and arms.

'Sarah's right: who told them to come?'

Them. The name of those veiled figures was spoken only rarely, but when it was it was with a combination of reverence and fear. The Sisters of Lenity. Silent, save for the chants heard as they took their burdens across the waters. They arrived only when they were sent for.

The spark had gone from Ambrosius' eyes and they seemed sunken in their sockets. He had been waiting for them when they had straggled back from the shore, standing on the terrace as immobile as one of the gnarled winter-black trees that stood in stark relief against the sky. 'The Sisters may not have been sent by someone from the Underground. There is no steward or equerry here to oversee such matters. And those of us who may be deemed to be in high enough position to make that decision...' The harsh lines of his face softened slightly. 'We were probably too close to him. So, to answer your very pertinent questions, my dears, the decision to remove Jareth from his realm could only have come from a legitimate authority outside of the Underground.'

'The Quaternion,' Delaine stated.

'It could not have been anyone else.'

Delaine closed her eyes, massaging the bridge of her nose with one finger. Ambrosius had sunk into himself again.

'But they can't just do that, can they?' Sarah demanded. 'I thought they were supposed to be neutral - how do they get to decide who lives and who...' She stumbled over the word, refusing to say it. 'If Jareth was still alive, surely they couldn't take him away against his will?'

Delaine looked questioningly at Ambrosius. The old wizard was watching Sarah intently; his coal-black eyes were impossible to read. 'Do you know, my dear, you have the most interesting ability to ask questions to which I do not know the answers.'

His words hung in the air. Toby uncurled himself and padded over to Sarah, sitting at her feet and taking hold of the hand she held out to him. Her fingers were cold but she held his firmly.

'Perhaps we should ask them.'

'Ask them,' Delaine repeated. 'You make it sound so simple, Ambrosius.'

He had steepled his fingers together. 'No, it will not be simple, Delaine. The authority of the Quaternion has very rarely been challenged.'

'I didn't know it had ever been challenged at all.'

'Oh... I'm sure that it must have been, at some point, by someone.'

'If so, there's probably a reason why that someone has never been heard of since,' Delaine muttered darkly.

Sarah had never seen - nor had she any desire to - the entities the Fae realms called the Quaternion. Jareth had only mentioned them once or twice and it had been clear that he did not wish to discuss them. But there had been a look in his eyes that she saw now in Delaine's - something that was like fear, but somehow more disturbing. 'Will you go to see them?' she asked, realising that she was clueless as to where these beings were, let alone how to find them. Delaine nodded.

'I have to go and see them anyway.'

She didn't meet Sarah's eyes. Of course. She was his heir. With Jareth gone, Delaine would rule the Underground. It was not a position she had ever aspired to; she seemed to shrink from them, as though expecting an accusation.

'I'll go with you.'

Delaine's slender form straightened. 'No mortal has ever faced the Quaternion, Sarah. I ... I don't know what they would do to you.'

Sarah felt Toby's weight shift against her legs and looked down at him. With his blonde hair ruffled and his mismatched eyes glittering he looked more than ever like a miniature version of Jareth. But not quite. There was something in the shape of his mouth and chin that reminded her of Karen. She had never noticed that before. The room was pressing in on her; her head started to spin and her lungs were apparently refusing to take in the air she desperately needed. After his parents had died she had brought Toby to the Underground to keep him safe. Looking after him was supposed to be her priority; did she have the right to risk herself for what she wanted?

Toby let out a faint grunt, wriggling his fingers frantically in her vicelike grasp. 'Sarah...'

She released him abruptly, he cheeks stained with a flush of self-recrimination. 'Oh God, Toby, I'm sorry! Are you okay?' She took hold of his hand again, rubbing his fingers gently.

'Yeah, I'm fine. Those things you guys are talking about wouldn't really hurt you, would they?' He looked from her to Delaine and Ambrosius.

'They may be displeased,' Ambrosius replied. 'But more than that... Expelling you from the Underground, perhaps.'

Toby's shoulders sagged. 'But... But they might let Jareth come home, right?'

Ambrosius shrugged slightly. 'Again, perhaps. We have no way of knowing, Toby.'

The boy looked up at his sister again. 'Guess you better go and ask them, huh?'

Her normally soft grey eyes had hardened to something resembling polished steel, but she managed a small smile for him. 'I guess so.' There was a pause and in that silence the occupants of the room all seemed detached from one another, all lost in their own thoughts. 'So, when do we see them?'

'If you're feeling up to it I'd say now,' Delaine replied. 'The sooner, the better, I think.'

Sarah nodded. At least she would not have to wait too long for their answer; and there would be no time to brood over whether or not that was a good thing. With the decision made they were all roused into activity: Ambrosius - over his objections - announced his intention to take Toby back to his room and feed him; Delaine began marshalling Sarah out of the room, trying to give her some idea of what to expect.

The corridor outside the study was empty. The Goblins usually swarmed everywhere - especially in places they were not supposed to be. Their absence now was a mute testimony to their loss. Unlike Jareth and his kin, Goblins are not immortal. He was the only king most of them had ever known and in their own wild, rather chaotic fashion they had loved him.

Sarah followed Delaine through the winding passageways. She still did not know all the areas of the immense castle - she was certain that it expanded itself when no-one was looking - and now she was being taken into a part she had never entered before. The air was colder and Sarah would swear that she could feel a crackle like electricity running through it. There were no longer the fine, slightly worn rugs under their feet; and there were no windows. As they walked past, torches held in sconces ignited themselves. The sconces were modelled on arms, from the bicep down to the fingers; they were of cast iron but as Sarah passed one she saw the fingers flex around the base of the torch. She turned her head sharply but there was no movement; she tried to persuade herself that it had just been a trick caused by the flickering light. So wrapped in these thoughts was she that she didn't notice that Delaine had come to a stop and almost walked into her.

They were at a set of sleek black doors. Delaine took a deep breath, tried to smile, and then pushed them open.


	4. Question Everything In Heaven Or Hell

'Enjoying your book?' Ambrosius enquired.

Toby shrugged. 'S'okay, I guess. It's about some kid who's a wizard, only he doesn't know it yet.'

Toby had condescended to eat the food that Ambrosius had given him; but he refused to go to bed, despite the sorcerer's insistence that he needed rest. Toby was equally insistent that he would stay awake until Sarah returned and he could hear what the decision had been. Ambrosius had toyed with the idea of putting the boy into an enchanted sleep, but had decided against it in the end. Toby had taken one of the books Sarah had just bought for him and settled himself in the armchair in the corner of his room. How they had materialised in his room in the castle from the hotel he did not know nor did he care. For a long time there had been no sound except for the occasional rustle as pages were turned and the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

From over the top of his book, Toby watched his companion - or was it bodyguard? - for a time. He had always imagined Merlin with a flowing white beard and hair, a pointed hat and midnight blue robes covered in silver stars. Merlin - the real Merlin, Ambrosius - had a beard, but it was grizzled and rather wiry. His darkly silvered hair was cut close and his clothing was entirely of shades of grey, consisting of a pale linen shirt under a longish tunic, wide trousers gathered into knee boots and a heavy outer robe of some rough material. He was altogether a far more formidable and intimidating figure than any in a child's storybook. But there was an innate kindliness in his dark eyes and he was frequently moved to great spasms of silent laughter.

'There's another wizard guy in here,' Toby volunteered a few minutes later, 'who I guess is kinda meant to be like you. Y'know, the kid's mentor and stuff.'

'Then pity the poor child.' Ambrosius stared out of the window, but did not see the vista of the mighty Labyrinth spread out beneath him. As though in a moving picture he saw all the promises he had made over the long years of his life. He had lost count of how many he had been unable to keep.

* * *

At the first touch of that cold, damp mist against her cheek, Sarah had felt like screaming. With every step they took closer to their destination, the desire to run intensified. It took every sliver of determination she could dredge up to keep going. Her knees were buckling under her and she felt sick with fear. She was grateful of Delaine's hand - ice-cold though it was - holding her own. The two of them had become fairly close over time: apart from anything else, Sarah found it nice to have a female friend who at least looked human, even if she wasn't actually.

They made their way forward, groping uncertainly in the swirling nothingness. The stifling, obsidian-clad chamber had been bad enough, but this...

The massive portico resolved itself out of the mist in front of their faces. The stone pillars either side were dull and smooth, their surfaces unbroken by any cracks. The doors themselves were of dark wood and banded with iron; the metal was decorated with symbols that Sarah didn't understand, but something about their alien shapes spoke to her of incantations and preternatural power. Delaine raised her fist and struck the door three times; her clenched hand looked too small to make any impression on that monumental structure, but the door reverberated under the blows. There was the sound of metal scraping on metal, as though a great lock were being turned, a dull clang and then the doors started to swing inwards. They opened just enough for the two women to slip through and then started to close again. The bottoms grated along the floor and Sarah had the sudden, panicked impression that this was the sound of someone sealing her into her tomb.

With an effort she shook off the torpor that was paralysing her and hurried to match Delaine's long strides. The interior of the Halls of Stone was approximately as welcoming as the exterior had been. There were niches at regular intervals along the walls and the ceiling was high and vaulted; there was no decoration to relieve the grey stone, only clear narrow windows to allow in the light. Their footsteps rang on the flagstones of an interminable corridor - until they reached a staircase whose wide steps had been cut directly into the rock-face. Delaine paused at the foot. 'Almost there. Can you still manage it?'

'How bad can it be?' Sarah straightened her shoulders, knowing that her show of bravura didn't fool Delaine any more than it fooled herself. Even so, Jareth's sister nodded approvingly and started up the stairs. Only when they were halfway up did Sarah realised that there was a stronger light source waiting for them at the top. Her pulse started to perform the all-too familiar beat of fear. Her steps were beginning to drag, but they were almost at the top...

Sarah was not an especially religious person, but she had always imagined that an encounter with a godlike deity would be an inspiring and rather beautiful experience.

As soon as she mounted the final step she knew that an encounter with the Quaternion would not be like that.

The seated figures were larger than humans; their robes seemed at once as immovable as the stone of their halls and as insubstantial as the mist beyond. There were eye sockets, but no eyes ... there were no features at all. The shapes that passed for faces were raised slightly, as though the sightless eyes were watching something over her and Delaine's heads.

_'We have been expecting you, Delaine, Princess of the Underground, Lady of Light, Mistress of the Morning, Mistress of Joy.'_

The voices were neither male nor female, indistinguishable from one another, but undeniably a chorus. Sarah didn't just hear them inside her head: she could feel them, as though they had taken up residence within her. She had the horrible impression that a living entity was trawling through the recesses of her mind and she was powerless to prevent it.

Delaine had bowed slightly before them as they had spoken her official titles. She had appeared before them only once, and had sworn to herself that she would never go back. Like Sarah, she conquered the almost overwhelming desire to run. But pain and grief and anger had combined to forge a burning rod that kept her back straight and her head erect.

_'Why have you brought the mortal who ensnared the Goblin King?'_

Sarah was almost glad of the insult; indignation gave her a voice. 'I didn't ensnare anyone,' she said levelly. 'I love Jareth; and he loves me. And I want him back.'

_'Explain yourself.'_

Her throat constricted. The inner core of Sarah's being wanted to curl up and whimper like a scared child; it was all she could do to remain upright.

Delaine, however, seemed to have grown in stature since their arrival. Sarah had never heard her formal epithets before, but she could see why Delaine was called Lady of Light: despite the draining monochrome gloom of the Halls of Stone, the Goblin Princess had taken on the hue of pale gold. 'You removed my brother to the realm beyond the great water. We don't understand the reason. We want to know why you took him before it was time.'

_'Time? You dare speak to us of time?'_

'He still lived.'

_'His wounds were severe.'_

'Yes, severe - but he wasn't dead. And he did not choose to leave his lands. Did he?' Her voice failed slightly on the last words; what she had been so sure of in her brother's sanctum now seemed less of a certainty.

There was a pause.

_'No. He did not choose.'_

'Then why the hell did you take him?'

Delaine closed her eyes, muttering an agonised, 'Sarah...' and hoping that the impetuous brunette would keep her temper for just a little longer.

_'The Underground still bears scars. It is not yet strong. It needs a leader.'_

'I understand those concerns; but we are not under any threat now. And if we were, we have allies who would help us-'

_'Vanity.'_

Delaine stared up, bewildered.

_'You count on his personal affection for you. You believe he will always answer your call. Such assumptions may be your downfall.'_

She was silent for a moment, but Sarah could hear her ragged breathing. 'The treaties will hold,' Delaine continued, 'with all our allies. That has already been proved.'

_'Perhaps. But would you condemn your brother to suffering in your world when he could be healed in another?'_

'You didn't give us the time to heal him. I have some skill at healing and Ambrosius' knowledge is far greater than mine. And the Labyrinth would have replenished him.'

The four heads suddenly lowered; and though the hollows of their eyes could not see, they all were turned to Delaine. She fell back a step, the golden warmth fading from her skin.

_'Would you give it up? The power of the Labyrinth? Wars have been fought for it. The souls of beings of many races have been damned for their desire for it. And you would give it up? It is yours by right, Princess of the Underground. The power to command the stars, to reshape space, to master time... Accept your birthright. Take your crown and all that you desire.'_

Delaine's eyes were unfocused and glassy; but then, with a great effort, she righted herself. 'I just want my brother back,' she said, unwittingly echoing the words spoken by another anguished sister so many years before.

The heads turned from her; the Quaternion focused again on Sarah; their attention fell on her like a blow. 'You, mortal, who has felt the might of the Labyrinth; you would be Goblin Queen?'

'It's nothing to do with my being Goblin Queen.' Her voice sounded pathetically small. 'I don't care about that. And my name is Sarah.'

A thousand voices burst inside her head, their words tumbling over each other so that she could not grasp at them. There was a gibbering taunting tone to some of them; others were calm, reasoning; and others were sinister, insinuating, seemingly calling up the long-buried fears of her worst nightmares. Sarah clamped her hands over her ears, but there was no silencing them, nor any refuge to be found.

And then it all stopped.

_'You are mortal. You are nothing. Would you truly walk alone through the Amaranthine Realms to get him back?'_

She could not speak, only dumbly nod; she forced herself to meet their unseeing gaze once more. 'Yes.'

_'Well, Sarah, child of the Dying Lands, your quest must be a solitary one; but if you can find him, you can take him where you will.'_

The air was sucked out of their lungs; all light was extinguished. Sarah felt herself falling and then landed hard, her hands bracing against the cold floor of the black chamber.

* * *

When Sarah crept into Toby's room, night had long since fallen. The boy was still curled up in his chair, the book open between his limp hands.

'He would not go to bed until you came.' She started slightly as Ambrosius' voice greeted her from the shadows at the window embrasure.

'And now I'm here.' Sarah removed the book and then lifted him in her arms. He was heavier than he looked. Ambrosius helped her put him into the bed and then covered him over with the heavy counterpane. Lancelot was no longer required as a sleeping companion, as Toby had gravely informed her some time ago. Nevertheless, Sarah tucked the bear into the crook of her brother's arm; he automatically tightened his hold on the small, well-worn body.

'I take it your petition was successful? They had withdrawn to a corner of the room; Ambrosius' voice was barely above a whisper.

'Yes.'

A sigh escaped his lips. The wizard leaned forward, examining her face intently. 'And you must go alone.'

Sarah nodded, her fingers playing with a loose thread on her sleeve. 'Delaine isn't too happy about that.'

The fire had rekindled in his eyes and Sarah sensed that a smile was playing about his lips. 'I suspect that is something of an understatement.'

It had been all Sarah could do to stop Delaine from going back to the Halls of Stone. The Quaternion had made themselves very clear and provoking them further did not strike Sarah as a good idea. Delaine had agreed grudgingly, but her eyes still flashed with a fire that Sarah wished she could feel. She should have felt some sort of relief; she should feel resolute.

In truth, she felt slightly sick.

But the thought of breaking down in front of Delaine - with her glowing face and radiating that easy strength - was too shameful.

Sarah pleaded exhaustion and assured Ambrosius that she would give him a full account of what had transpired in the morning. He insisted on walking her back to her room and every step was an ordeal.

Ambrosius patted her kindly on the shoulder before they parted and Sarah could only meet that penetrating black gaze for a few seconds. When she finally closed the door on him, she leant against it for a few minutes, the wood cool against her burning forehead. Someone had tidied the room; a fresh bowl of potpourri had been placed on a table, but behind the mix of bitter orange and cinnamon, she could catch that indescribable scent that was his. Sarah walked slowly through the bedroom and adjoining chambers until she reached the bathroom. The face that greeted her in the mirror was pale and more gaunt than usual. She loosened her hair so that it fell over her shoulders, the way Jareth preferred it. She could almost feel his fingers running through it...

Sarah lowered her head, gripping the edge of the marble countertop and gazing fixedly at the litter of jars and bottles.

'Why do you need three different things to clean your face?' He had examined them, bemused.

'For heaven's sake, you must have seen toiletries before. You have a sister, don't you?'

He peered into a jar of walnut shell exfoliator with great suspicion. 'This looks like Goblin food, you know. And Delaine's ... things ... have always stayed in her rooms. I don't go in there.'

She snatched an eyelash curler out of his hands. 'Don't tell me you're too scared to go into your own sister's room!'

He drew himself up. 'I am not scared, as you put it. I merely choose to respect her privacy.'

She could hear his voice as clearly as though he were standing in the room with her. She could feel the light pressure and scratch of a quill against her skin from a love song he had never finished.

The violence of the sob that escaped her throat caused a physical pain. She huddled on the cold floor, a towel pressed to her face to muffle the sound. The grief came in waves for what remained of the night.

But in the morning, when the grey dawn light finally broke, Sarah dragged herself to her feet and walked unsteadily across the bedroom and rested her aching head against the cold glass. The Labyrinth, still with a layer of mist hanging over it, glittered palely. It was not conscious, she had been told, but it was a living thing. In the stillness of the morning, Sarah sensed that it was waiting for something - waiting for its master, perhaps.

And she would bring him home.


	5. More Than Just A Sad Song

The boy clutched the doll firmly under one arm and looked up the long shaft that led back to the surface. His sister's shrill voice floated back down to him.

'Can you hear me? Are you hurt? Are you dead?'

'If I was dead I wouldn't be able to answer, would I?' he yelled back.

'You have to admit, he has a point,' said the Helping Hands.

'Yes, I do. Now take me back up to the surface, if you please.'

'We took you down the shaft; we can't take you back up again!'

Jareth threw his shoulders back and glared at them. 'No, you didn't. I climbed down on my own. And I didn't say anything at all to you, even when you asked me. And that means that I still get to choose whether you take me up or down.'

The Hands were silent for a moment and then started a whispered debate. The Prince's logic was hard to refute. Although, even he would have had to admit that "climbed" was something of a euphemism for his descent: "slithered" would have been more accurate. The debate was becoming heated; but some of the Hands, who evidently didn't care which way they pulled anyone or how often, had started a thumb war championship. A consensus, however, was reached.

'All right, Your Highness. We'll take you back up. Give him a hand, boys!'

The Hands were none too gentle and Jareth bit down hard on his lip. He had landed awkwardly and his arm had made a horrible snapping sound; it still hurt and every jerk as he was passed from one set of Hands to another was agony. When he finally reached the surface he lay on the ground for a minute, battered, dusty and aching.

'You can stop crying now. I brought Benetrix back.'

Delaine snatched the doll from him and threw it down on the ground next to her. Its glass eyes regarded her balefully. 'I don't want the stupid bloody doll!' she cried passionately. 'I hate you! I wish you'd stayed down the damn oubliette!'

'I'll tell Father you said a bad word. Two bad words.' He sat up, cradling his broken arm.

'Are you hurt very much?' Her eyes were wide and shining with tears of both anxiety and temper.

Jareth adopted a nonchalant tone. 'Not too much'. His attempt at an elegant shrug turned into a wince.

'You need a sling,' his sister declared. She tore up part of her skirt and tied it inexpertly around his arm and neck. 'You were terribly brave going down there,' she added after a while.

He sighed. 'Yes, I was rather.'

'Benetrix thinks you were very brave, too.'

'Oh, well, as long as the doll thinks so...'

'Ahem, Your Highness?'

Delaine started; the crystal she had been watching flickered out of existence at a wave of her hand. Sir Didymus stood at a little distance. He was holding himself very erect, but his whiskers drooped and his tail was dragging on the floor. She leaned forward, folding in on herself until she was almost at his eye-level and managed a wan smile. 'What can I do for you, Didymus?'

The little fox inhaled deeply, his aristocratic nose quivering. 'It is not for Your Highness to do ought for me! I wouldst not hath disturbed you, but...'

'But what?'

'The guests, Your Highness. His Majesty's guests...'

'Yes, of course.' She scrubbed at her face. 'I had quite forgotten. Don't worry, Didymus. Show them into the breakfast room and give them something to eat. I'll be down in a few minutes.'

He trotted out of the room and Delaine sat staring at a piece of carpet. Her eyes were raw from lack of sleep, but she had feared her dreams more then she did her waking thoughts. There were no nightmares in the Underground, but she was certain that last night - and all the coming nights - would have proved the contrary. She eased herself out of her chair feeling fully ten thousand years old, and tried to decide on something suitable to wear.

* * *

After the rigourous application of cold water had reduced most of the puffiness from her face and she had felt strong enough to leave the shelter of her chambers, Sarah's first action had been to go to Toby and tell him what had happened.

He had been overjoyed until he had realised that it meant that he couldn't go with her. It had been a painful scene, with tears on both sides.

'They won't let you go with me, Toby. They won't let anyone. And even if they did, I couldn't protect you.'

'Yes, you could! You helped beat old whatsisname-'

'Khazad?'

'Yeah, that's it. And you turned yourself into an owl - I saw you!'

Sarah put her arm around him. 'I don't think that part was really anything to do with me. Jareth had given me his amulet; he said it would protect me and I think that's what happened. I jumped out of a window so it turned me into a bird so I wouldn't go splattering all over the battlements. And as for Khazad...' She shuddered slightly; the memories were still too vivid to be contemplated lightly. 'I think that was more good luck than good management on my part.'

He had refused to look at her for a while.

'If you don't want me to go, Toby-' She was pleased that she was able to keep her voice from shaking. 'I promised I'd look after you.'

'So did Jareth. And he still went away.'

She smoothed down some of the more unruly tufts of his hair. 'That's not because he wanted to, Tobes.'

'I know.' He looked at her, finally. 'Do you really think you can find him?'

'I can try.'

'And you'll come back, won't you? And everything will be like it was?'

_'Are you asking me to lie to you, Sarah?'_

_'Yes.'_

Sarah closed her eyes momentarily and then managed to meet his questioning gaze with a smile. 'Of course I'll come back. And everything will be fine.'

He had been satisfied with that and had taken himself off for a bath with less fuss than usual. Sarah wondered how much damage she had just done him.

When she reached the breakfast room the low murmur of voices told her that Delaine had company; on entering, Sarah was not entirely surprised to see that Rajad was with her. But from the expression on his face, it was obvious that he had only just heard what had happened. Despite the fact that Rajad had once been married to Delaine, he and Jareth were close friends. Delaine had once commented that they only did it to annoy her.

However, Rajad's face was strained and shock made him forget his usual formality as he greeted her, taking both of her hands in his large ones and peering anxiously into her face.

Of the two others accompanying him, Sarah recognised his younger brother, Rizan - another veteran of the Underground's recent battle. Before she had been introduced to him properly, Sarah had expected all Elves to be like Rajad – stern-faced and a little aloof. Rizan was a slighter, younger copy of his brother; but where Rajad had the impassivity of a stone-faced sphinx, Rizan had an unending supply of jokes; the jokes themselves were terrible, but he had such infectious laughter that it was impossible not to join in. He gave her a hearty, if somewhat clumsy hug. The young woman with them was introduced as their cousin, Vathani. They were a handsome family: tall, dark-haired, with strong well-cut features. But where her cousins had green eyes, Vathani's were a melting brown. Her black hair fell to her waist and was ornamented intermittently with thin braids and ribbons that matched the bright silks of her draped robes; numerous gold chains and bracelets adorned her ankles and slender wrists. She stared at Sarah with undisguised curiosity until Rizan nudged her and she dropped her gaze - but Sarah could still sense those dark eyes watching her from under lowered lashes.

'It's terrible,' Rajad was saying. 'I cannot believe it. How are you, Sarah?'

'A lot better than I was yesterday morning,' she replied firmly. She saw a flicker of surprise and puzzlement in his eyes.

'We went to see the Quaternion,' Delaine stated, a note of triumph in her voice. 'And they have agreed to let Jareth come home. Sarah is going to find him.' She looked at her former husband defiantly; he stared back at her and then turned his disbelieving gaze on Sarah.

She had the distinct impression that he was sizing her up for the task and finding her wanting.

'You're going to go to the Amaranthine Realms? You?' Vathani's eyes were wide.

Sarah threw back her head. 'Yes, me.'

The Elf gazed at her solemnly. 'Then you are incredibly brave,' Vathani pronounced.

'Yes, she is,' Rajad interposed; he had recovered something of his composure. 'Far more than I had realised.' He treated her to one of his rare smiles; she returned it gratefully.

The doors opened once again and Toby trotted in. It must have been the fastest bath on record, Sarah thought; bits of his shirt were sticking to where he hadn't bothered to dry himself properly. His greeting of Rajad was less than enthusiastic and there was a distinct flash of amusement in the Elf lord's green eyes. Nevertheless, he responded to the child gravely.

Delaine took charge of the proceedings, playing hostess with a fortitude that Sarah found astonishing. A silent agreement seemed to have been reached that 'business' should not be discussed in front of Toby. Sarah half-smiled to herself – as Toby would find out everything that was going on, they needn't waste their time trying to shield him now. They took their seats around the table and Sarah tried to pinpoint the exact moment she had acquired such an odd extended family.

* * *

_'...And that's when I said, "If you think that's bad, you should try doing it in a Dwarven mine!" '_

_Sarah – breathless from her partner's enthusiastic waltzing of her around the ballroom – joined in Rizan's laughter._

_The party was one half victory ball, one half celebration that the Underground would have a new queen and that Sarah – the mortal whom the Goblin King had loved from afar for so long – would finally take her rightful place. The music ended and Rizan deposited her on one of the sofas that punctuated the edges of the dance-floor. He beamed down at her. 'Can I get you a drink?'_

_'No, I'm okay, thanks.'_

_'I think I'll get one. Rajad was telling me about this stuff called brandy – have you heard of it?'_

_Sarah laughed slightly. 'Uh, yes. There's a lot of it Aboveground.'_

_Rizan digested this information with interest. 'Right. Well, I'll see if they have any. If not I'll have a word with Delaine – apparently she's the go-to girl. Wish me luck!'_

_Sarah watched him thread his way through the throng and shook her head slightly. Even with the french windows thrown open, the air was stifling and she fanned herself with her hand, eyeing enviously the bits of wood and lace some of the ladies were fluttering in front of their faces. A drink might have been an idea, something long and cool... Sarah sat back against the cushions and watched the guests lazily. Some stood in groups on the edges, most were in pairs following familiar steps around the dance-floor. The huge domed ceiling was mirrored, reflecting to infinity the rotating couples below; it was as though the dance would go on forever. Curving staircases led up to the balcony at one end and the bandstand at the other, while delicate crystal chandeliers floated a few feet above their heads. She was reminded, inevitably, of the last ball she had seen in the Underground. Not that there was much similarity between the two events – although, there was certainly as much flirting going on. On the sofa next to hers a Woodland Elf, her auburn hair elaborately arranged and her dress cut alarmingly low, was admiring the well-developed musculature of a rather handsome Satyr. Sarah hastily averted her eyes. Everyone was having a wonderful time; there were any number of strange creatures and elegant people on display, but none of them had the mocking eyes and cruel mouths of those jaded, graceful dancers that she remembered._

_When she had still been her pre-Labyrinth self, Sarah had always admired her mother and her mother's boyfriend, Jeremy, and their friends and their wonderfully dismissive way of talking about everyone who wasn't them. It was only afterwards, when she had stayed with them on one of those weekends when Linda chose to remember that she had a daughter, that Sarah had realised that Linda and her circle were as shallow and bored and cruel as those wearied, decadent masquers. The crystal ball had been a child's ideal of a grown-up world; yet, the superficiality and decadence had been easy to see. Sarah had still become an actress, but the person she had been on her way to becoming and the life she had thought she wanted had shattered as easily as the ballroom itself._

_But in the middle of it all had been Jareth. It was probably the only time during her adventure that he had allowed her to see him more as he truly was. It was more the way he had looked at her than anything he had said. The way he was looking at her now... She could feel his eyes on her before she saw him. He was surrounded by a throng of admirers and wearing a look of polite indifference; but his gaze was fixed on her and what she saw in the depths of those eyes made her heart skip a beat. Jareth detached himself from his little group and walked across to her, the dancers and other guests parting obediently before him. Sarah didn't remember standing up, but she must have done because the next thing she was aware of she was in his arms and they were drifting across the dancefloor._

_'This is the first time we've danced together since... Well, you know.'_

_'Is it now?' he asked with feigned surprise._

_'Very funny. But I'm definitely enjoying this one much more.'_

_His lips twitched slightly. 'I'm relieved to hear it. Although, I should warn you that I've given orders that if anyone sees you wielding a chair you are to be wrestled to the ground immediately.'_

_'And put in chains?'_

_'And then cast into the deepest, darkest dungeon.'_

_She laughed. 'What happened to all those other guests? After I...'_

_'Burst the bubble?'_

_'That was an appalling joke.'_

_'They didn't exist.' He shrugged lightly. 'Everyone in that ballroom was simply a phantom.'_

_She smiled. 'Except for you.'_

_His eyes glittered. 'Obviously.'_

_The music changed: a sweet, sad melody that had echoed in her dreams for a decade._

_'You old romantic, you!' she exclaimed playfully. 'They're playing our song.'_

_His fingers tightened around hers and he drew her closer to him. Sarah rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes as they rotated gracefully. Both were oblivious to the ring of spectators; some of the dancers were too lost in their own private moments, but many had stopped to watch. Their faces registered approval and only occasionally jealousy._

_'They look good together.'_

_Delaine glanced away from the pair only momentarily. 'Yes, they do.' Rajad had divested himself of the sling that she had insisted he wear until his shoulder was fully healed. He normally grumbled at the prospect of a social gathering such as this, but even he seemed to be enjoying himself. Possibly due to the attentions of the remarkably large number of females who found his particular brand of broad-shouldered, dark good looks appealing, she thought sniffily. 'They certainly took their time about it. But it's wonderful to see him looking so happy and what is Kenara doing with that Satyr?'_

_'She's putting her-'_

_'I can see what she's doing.' Delaine replied stiffly. 'Some people have no sense of propriety.'_

_The corners of his mouth twitched. 'I had no idea you were such a prude.'_

_'I had no idea you weren't!'_

_'Really?' The smile broadened. 'You have a very short memory. Shall we dance?'_

_Delaine blinked. 'But you don't dance.'_

_'I didn't used to dance,' Rajad corrected her. 'I might like to take it up before you drag me into another war.'_

_'I didn't drag you anywhere,' she protested, allowing him to lead her onto the floor. 'I merely requested the use of your personage and you handed it over without much of a struggle.'_

_'I was duty-bound. That's the point of a treaty.'_

_She stared over his shoulder. 'Of course.'_

_They moved in silence for a time, Delaine wondering vaguely who it was who had taught him to dance._

_'You don't have to keep holding my arm up,' he informed her. 'I'm fine.'_

_'Not yet you're not. So, it's my duty to prevent any further injury.'_

_His green eyes were fixed on hers quizzically. 'Duty?'_

_'The duty of friendship.'_

_'Ah.'_

* * *

The soft clink of crystal attracted his attention. He followed the sound a little down the corridor, then through the door and into the library where Delaine had taken refuge. He caught only a glimpse of the image she had conjured up: a memory from long ago, of two blonde haired children chasing one another through the miniature maze their father had created for their amusement.

Rajad had moved with the noiselessness common to his people, but she had sensed his presence, somehow; the crystal vanished and she straightened, her shoulders squaring as she prepared to face him.

He was not used to seeing her like this. Like her brother, Delaine's moods were changeable; this did not mean that she was capricious; but she was impetuous, impulsive and passionate. She was capable of enormous composure, but the prolonged self-controlled calm she was displaying under these emotionally charged circumstances was wholly alien to her nature. He knew what would happen: she would keep up this show of impervious efficient strength beyond the endurance of any other being and then she would simply fall to pieces

'You can't keep doing this.'

'Doing what?' The dark circles under her eyes were clearly visible, despite her attempts conceal them.

'Keeping up this act.' He walked further into the library; the cold air was imbued with the smell of parchment, dust and old leather. 'It's a terrible loss; I know how much Jareth meant to you-'

'Don't talk as though my brother were dead! Jareth is not dead.'

'Delaine-'

'What would you have me do?' Her eyes looked too bright in her ashen face. 'Sing a lament? Go into the Room of Mourning and see how it decorates itself for him? Well, I'm not going to. Not until Sarah returns, and then I won't have to.'

He watched her for a moment. 'Delaine, you know it is possible – very possible – that Sarah may never come back.'

She threw her head back and stared at him. 'She will find him and she will return. I believe in her. I have to.' Her voice was starting to have a strangled sound. 'I can't save him myself. I have to believe that she can.' Delaine took a deep breath and stared past him. More than anything right now she wished that he would stop looking at her like that. Her defences were so fragile; she didn't need someone who could see through them so easily.

'It wasn't you fault, Delaine. You couldn't have done anything to help him.'

'I shouldn't have left him alone. I should have sent someone else to find Sarah; I should have stayed...'

'To do what? Fight with the Sisters of Lenity?'

'Yes!' The word was wrenched out of her. Her face – controlled no longer – was trembling. 'I should have barred them from the castle. I should have sunk their damn boat before they even set foot on our shores. I should have done anything...' She pressed her fingers against her eyes. 'I keep seeing it, Rajad: the stones falling on him and then his face... I could do nothing to help him and now I cannot even go to bring him back. My own brother! Have you any idea what that feels like? And Sarah has to go on her own; she shouldn't have to go on her own. It should be me; or at least I should go with her...'

He took a step toward her but she held up her hands, blocking herself from him.

He stared at her helplessly. 'Perhaps you should talk to Sarah about this.'

Delaine shook her head. 'If I did, I would weep and if I start I don't think I would ever stop. Sarah must have all her strength; the last thing she needs is me crying all over her shoulder.'

Then cry all over mine, he thought. But he did not say it; she would not welcome his offer. Or maybe she would; he caught the look in her eyes as she turned from him... The moment was gone and when Delaine turned back her face was impassive and rigid.

'Ambrosius and the others will be waiting for us.'

He followed her silently. She turned back to him so suddenly he almost knocked her over; he steadied her and then released her as abruptly as he had taken hold.

'I appreciate your being here, Rajad. Don't think that I don't. I would hate you to think that I ... that I just take you for granted.'

'I have never thought that.'

She nodded and was gone before he could say any more.

* * *

'Why can't I just take a boat and sail across the sea to ... wherever? Isn't that the easiest way?'

'Because your soul would be ripped from your body. Only those with the life of the immortals can cross those waters; and as your soul is the only immortal thing about you...' Ambrosius regarded her pale face. 'I'm sorry, my dear; but you did ask.'

Ambrosius' words should have been followed by the desolate howl of the wind, Sarah thought. The castle should be under a deluge of grey sleet. Instead the sun – relentlessly cheerful – was shining in a clear sky and the hard frost covering the Labyrinth glittered. Pathetic fallacy only exists in fiction, she concluded; real life would not be so convenient. She looked across at Delaine; the delicate feather-like markings around her eyes stood in stark contrast to her ashen skin. 'Soul ripped out, huh?' They held one another's gaze, Sarah's carrying a mute gratitude.

They had assembled in one of the sitting rooms. Toby was curled up next to Sarah – his presence came as something of a surprise to the Elves, but they wisely remained silent. Sir Didymus had taken up position in the corner of the room; as no one was certain exactly what his duties in the household were, no one felt they had the authority to challenge him. Nor had they the heart.

'Okay, so how do I get there? And please, Ambrosius, don't tell me that it can't be done.'

'It can be done; but your journey will be neither easy nor pleasant. I wish I could prepare you better for it; but the truth is that very few have ever entered the Amaranthine realms and returned. Their stories are all but lost, now...' He shook himself. 'It is your starting point that we must decide upon.'

'What about the caverns in the Nâzgeth Vale?' Rajad volunteered. 'The pathways are supposed to lead beyond the borders of our realms.'

The wizard nodded. 'They do. But I would not put Sarah in more danger than is absolutely necessary. The caverns have been colonised by a feral tribe - crossbred beings that were created and corrupted in the Darklands. And they have the taste for man-flesh now.'

'Gross.' Toby's muttered comment eased some of the tension.

The wizard's black eyes sparkled. 'Indeed.'

'There's no need to keep us in suspense, Ambrosius.' Delaine was watching him keenly. 'You already know which way Sarah should go, don't you?'

Ambrosius opened the book that was lying on the table; the leather binding had almost worn away and the fragile pages crackled as he turned them. He stopped at a drawing; its inky lines were faded and above and below were paragraphs written in spiky symbols that Sarah could not decipher. The sketch seemed to represent a doorway.

'A mirror,' Ambrosius corrected. 'But it is a portal between realms. It is a longer route but, I believe, a safer one.'

As one, they all leaned forward, peering at the curling yellowed page. Vathani's lips moved silently as she tried to translate the writing.

' "Gates of the Dawn, Gates of the Twilight, Mirror of the Worlds." ' Ambrosius' rich baritone reverberated around the room. ' "The Guardians of Light will guide your steps and part the mists before the pathways where time has no dominion." ' His beard twitched slightly. 'Evocative, but not entirely helpful. Rajad, we will need passage through your lands.'

'Hmm... Ah, yes.' He dragged his eyes from the book. 'Yes, of course.'

Ambrosius looked pointedly at Sarah. 'You can still change your mind, you know. If you decide not to go through with this...'

She shook her head, a grim little smile forcing its way to her lips. 'No.'

He settled back in his chair. 'Very well. There is not much that we can do to prepare you, Sarah. But we will do all that we can.'

* * *

Sarah pulled her scarf tighter around her throat. After being confined in the castle for so long, the fresh cold air was a welcome relief. It did not take her long to find Hoggle: he was doing something with a hoe in one of the dormant flower beds. The ground was frozen solid and his vigourous attacks made little impression; she wondered what he hoped to achieve. Hoggle was - and had always been - glum, grumpy and moody and she loved him dearly. He did not acknowledge her presence and after a while Sarah sat on the bottom step closest to where he was working.

'So, you're goin', then?'

Sarah propped her chin on her hands. 'You heard about that, huh?'

Hoggle snorted. 'Whole castle's talkin' about it.' He stopped assaulting the innocent ground and looked at her. 'Are you sure you want to be doin' this, Sarah?'

'You're not going to give me a lecture, are you?'

'Don't suppose there'd be much point. You've never taken advice before - don't see why you'd be starting now.'

'Hoggle, if there's even a chance that I can get Jareth back I have to take it. I have to try. You can see that, can't you?'

He dropped his hoe and stood in front of her, peering up into her eyes. 'You think he'd do it for you?'

Sarah sighed heavily and met her friend's gaze levelly and with only a hint of reproach. 'Jareth would. You know he would, Hoggle. Even you have to give him that.'

The Dwarf chewed the inside of his cheek. He had not had many friends for a very long time; and then there had been Sarah. His life had not changed dramatically as a result and he would never recover the position he had once held in the kingdom, but something had changed. He had changed, if nothing else. As for Jareth... Seeing Alinúr's eyes staring out of her son's face day-in, day-out had, possibly, been a worse punishment than exile or imprisonment. But the Underground had been Hoggle's home for a long time and he had been grateful that the former King, and then Jareth, had allowed him to remain. Hoggle would not be the first person for whom guilt and gratitude had slowly turned to resentment - a feeling spurred on by the many years of being on the receiving end of Jareth's contempt.

And then there had been Sarah...

There had been a notable decrease in hostility between the Dwarf and the King after she had conquered the Labyrinth. Hoggle was still a gardener; but instead of spending most of his time on the outskirts of the Labyrinth, he tended the rose gardens within the castle grounds. Jareth's contempt had been replaced by a tolerant indifference that was infinitely preferable.

In a perfect world, the fact that Sarah loved him and she was happy would have been enough for Hoggle. It was not a perfect world. But it was undeniable that Jareth loved Sarah and that was a point in his favour.

'We would have gone with you, Sarah,' Hoggle said after a while. 'Wherever you have to go, we would have followed.'

'I know,' she replied tightly. Sarah dropped her gaze from his; her eyes were burning.

Hoggle walked up the steps until he was on level with her. He cradled her head against his shoulder and stroked her dark hair.


	6. Word On A Wing

The doorway from the Underground to the realms beyond was suitably impressive. The wood was dark, polished to a high sheen and inlaid with stylised carvings. There were no handles that Sarah could see - but most of the doorway was obscured by the two statues posted in front. Cast in silver and standing on all fours, they had the bodies of lions; great wings curved over their heads and their faces, smooth and implacable, were human.

'You shall not pass here.' The words were spoken in such resounding basso profondo tones that the ground shook.

Delaine glared at them. 'Must we? Every time?'

'Ah! Your Highness,' one of the statues said smoothly, his timbre switching from terrifying to urbane. 'Do forgive us, we had not realised it was your gracious self.'

'And my Lord Rajad,' the other interposed. 'We regret the oversight.'

Rajad's response to the greeting was not so much words as a low growl.

'Terribly temperamental, these Elves,' one muttered.

'Indeed.'

Sarah watched the exchanges, torn between awe and amusement.

'I hate to be the one to break in on these pleasant proceedings,' Delaine said with deceptive sweetness, 'but do you think you could bring yourselves to open the door and let us out?'

'Well, of course we could, Your Highness; that is what we are here for.'

'But it is only natural that when we have the opportunity to converse with such august company we will avail ourselves of the privilege. And will you introduce us to your illustrious companion of whom we have heard so much, or will you leave us to do that ourselves?'

Delaine's teeth were ground together so hard it was a wonder that she could get the words out. 'Sarah, this is Balaat and Khedîsh. Balaat, Khedîsh - Sarah.'

'Charmed.'

'Delighted.'

Sarah smiled weakly; something about those bland silver faces was repellant. 'Hello. Nice to meet you.'

'Hm, such lovely manners,' Balaat murmured.

The inhabitants of the Underground could materialise themselves Aboveground seemingly at will. Crossing from one Fae realm to another was an entirely different matter and could only be done through the proper portals - unless one actively wished to declare a state of war. Rizan and Vathani had already gone on ahead; and Sarah had already said good-bye to Hoggle, Ludo and Sir Didymus at the castle. None of them were very good at farewells. The sound of Ludo's mournful lowing was the last thing she heard before Delaine skilfully and quietly moved them from the castle to the large, sparse enclosure on the edge of the Labyrinth where they now stood. There was no life here. The walls of the courtyard towered around them, but no tree branches were visible above and neither blade of grass nor weed had found its way through the cracks in the paving. The sky was dominated by a shimmering purple haze that Jareth had told her marked the borders of the Underground.

'Now,' Khedîsh inquired in oily tones, 'where will you be travelling today?'

'The mountain kingdom of Ber-el-Djehir,' Delaine replied shortly.

'I take it you have permission?'

'We don't need bloody permission,' Rajad rumbled. 'Or do I now need a permit to enter my own bloody lands?'

'My Lord Rajad, we are simply performing our duties. If you have any complaints I suggest that you address them to the mighty wizard standing behind you. After all,' a ripple of malice passed across Balaat's face, 'the great Merlin Ambrosius put us here.'

'So I did.' The sorcerer's face was unreadable and though his tone was light, there was an edge to it. 'And you have performed your duties admirably. Now, if you will let us pass with your customary efficiency...'

An almost inaudible hiss followed Ambrosius' words; then the two great pairs of wings were flexed and folded neatly along the creatures' sleek flanks and the door beyond them swung open.

'Have a pleasant journey.'

'Hope to see you again soon.'

Sarah followed Delaine through the doorway. There was a moment of disjunction, of cool clammy air and a ringing in her ears, a feeling like being in a lift that is ascending too fast.

The first thing she became aware of after that was the smell: a clean, fresh scent like pine and then a more acrid, smoky aroma.

'We've been burning off the dead scrub.' Rajad's voice spoke close to her ear.

They were standing in woodland; behind them was a wall and a huge door that was falling closed. It was flanked by two huge stone cats wearing collars of jewel-studded gold and particularly smug expressions.

'Those gatekeepers look a lot nicer than the other two,' Toby said thoughtfully. One of the cats drew itself slightly more erect. 'Where did you get yours from?'

'Trust me,' Delaine replied, 'you don't want you know.'

'No use looking at me,' Sarah added hastily, anticipating her brother's next question. 'I'm just passing through.' She handed him over to Ambrosius' care and Toby's high-pitched prattle, punctuated by the wizard's stately replies, formed the soundtrack to their walk.

It was the first time that Sarah had been in a Fae realm beyond the Underground and she looked around with interest. The woodland floor was littered with bracken and the debris of fallen leaves. The trees looked both familiar and strange: at first glance they resembled pines, but the twisted shapes, the silvered colour of the bark and the incense-like scent in the air made them alien to her. These lands were still lying dormant under winter's rule; but where the Underground was buried under layers of snow and ice, the ground here was free of frost, the air cold and very dry. Some autumn leaves, dried of all life, still clung to the branches while their fallen kind crunched underfoot. They walked uphill and as the trees thinned Sarah realised that they were not on the highest peak of this mountain kingdom. She looked uncertainly at the snowy peaks that rose in the distance. 'Um, we're not walking all the way up there, are we?'

Rajad followed the direction she was pointing and smiled slightly. 'No, the summer house is snowed in at present. We're going to the winter residence - it's just over the next rise.'

They walked on. Their passage disturbed the occasional bird who would rise into the air in a flurry of feathers and affronted squawks. Sarah tried to accustom herself to the feeling of the objects that hung from the wide leather belt around her waist. Sir Didymus had presented her with a dagger: its long blade glittered with lethal sharpness. Hoggle had donated a length of stout Dwarven rope. There was also a waterproof pouch containing two short candles and a box of matches, a flask of water and- 'Brandy,' Rajad had advised earnestly. 'Give her a flask of brandy. You never know when she might need it.'

Over the next rise... The house did not look built so much as coaxed out of stone and wood. Although 'house' hardly did justice to the extent and beauty of the residence. It stood on the edge of the cliff and nestled against a rocky outcropping that rose some thirty feet above it. Numerous arched windows let in the light but carved wooden screens were protection against prying eyes. Rizan and Vathani were waiting to meet them and as they moved down the wide steps that led to the front entrance a cry went up from within the house.

'How was the journey?' Rizan enquired, sweeping them up the stairs.

'The same as it always is,' his brother replied curtly; but affection warmed his features as he looked at the cheerful, eager face turned to his. The women of the household descended on them as they entered and Delaine submitted to a barrage of embraces and kisses. She had been mistress here once. The strength of their loyalty and the undisguised warmth of their greeting shamed her. She responded with more enthusiasm than was her custom, all the while aware of the green eyes watching her.

Vathani stripped Sarah of her small backpack and pressed on her a small glass of an amber coloured liquid. It was hot and refreshing and as soon as she had finished it another was placed in her hands along with a sticky fruit. Something twined itself around her legs; she staggered slightly and found herself blocking the passage of the largest, fluffiest cat she had ever seen. Its haughty expression demanded that she remove herself from its path; upon her compliance it strolled across the floor and butted its head against Rajad's leg. He stooped to pick it up; the creature swarmed up his arm and draped itself across his broad shoulders; from this lofty perch it examined the newcomers with green eyes only a few shades lighter than those of its master.

'Which one's this?' Delaine asked.

'Setash.'

She smiled. 'I remember her great-grandmother.'

'And unless I'm mistaken,' Rizan put in, 'she's going to be a mother herself soon. Know anyone who wants a cat?' he asked hopefully.

'People always want kittens.'

'I didn't mean kittens,' he replied, cheerfully linking his arm through Delaine's. 'I meant Setash - the beast's eating us out of house and home.'

The house was arranged around a series of courtyards: some were paved, with only a statue or small shrine in the middle; others were formal gardens with spike-leaved plants and still waters. Sarah found herself separated from her companions and shown into a chamber. The walls and floors were decorated with mosaics in shades of aqua, lapis and carnelian. The central part of the room was several inches lower than the rest and a brazier of beaten bronze warmed the space. A raised dais at one end was draped with silk and floored with cushions; carved wooden screens covered the windows and were arranged at strategic points around the room to create more private areas. Behind one of these was a sunken bath already full of hot water, its surface scattered with rose-petals.

'You will wish to refresh yourself after your journey,' Vathani informed her solemnly.

Sarah managed to conceal her amusement and thanked the girl with appropriate gravity. They had probably walked for all of half an hour - no great exertion by any means. But the Mountain Elves prided themselves on their hospitality and ritual bathing was part of their culture. And the perfumed water did look very inviting. Sarah sank into it and was surprised to note that there was a stiffness in her limbs. More from lack of sleep and tension than anything else, she thought. They were to spend a few hours at Rajad's home before continuing with their journey; Sarah closed her eyes, tracing their path on the map she had committed to memory. The kingdom was an extensive one and their destination lay atop one of the highest peaks. The Tower of Virtues, the home of the Shining Ones. And beyond that... Beyond that there was uncertainty. There was no map to show her the way. There would be no friends to help her, no benevolent Goblin King to watch over her. Benevolent Goblin King? Sarah shook herself and opened her eyes. You are hopeless, she told herself. Hopeless and glad of it.

And benevolent was not a word she could attribute to Jareth, even on his good days.

To her relief there were steps to aid her exit from her bath. She pulled on the robe that had been left for her, fine gold threads gleaming against the crimson brocade. The view from the screened balcony was magnificent: the cliff-face dropped away directly from under her windows and in the canyon far below there was the glitter of a river. The muted roaring spoke of a waterfall nearby and directly opposite, its spires rising proudly around its domed roof, was another residence, even more imposing than the one she currently occupied. The winter home of the Mountain King. Its expansive layout had been designed to welcome guests, while its mountain-face perch provided a defence against enemies.

There was no door on which to knock, but a light tap on one of the wooden screens alerted Sarah to someone's presence. Delaine's head appeared. 'Can I come in for a minute?'

'Yeah, of course.' She crossed the room, drawing her robe closer and then sat down awkwardly on the low divan. Delaine sat next to her, dropping into a cross-legged position with accustomed ease. 'Do you know when we're heading out?'

'Just before nightfall.'

'I should have known. When else does anything get done in these parts?' She rubbed her eyes. 'That didn't sound quite so bitter in my head.'

Delaine's eyes had narrowed with that slightly mocking amusement Sarah recognised from someone else's face. 'Isn't there a song that goes, "Night time is the right time"?'

'Probably. Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?'

'Not exactly. I wanted to give you something.' It glittered as she pulled it over her head - a twisted cord of fine silk from which hung an amulet. It was similar to the one Jareth wore but the contours were more rounded. The metal had been wrought into an endless knot surrounding a disc that had a pearlescent gleam.

Sarah met the Princess' eyes. 'Jareth leant me his once, too.'

'I know. I always steal the best ideas. They were made by our father. After each of our births he had them struck; Goblins can be surprisingly delicate craftsmen when occasion demands - and when under the correct supervision. Jareth received his when he inherited the kingdom. And mine... Mine was due me when I came of age; but our father was no longer with us, so Jareth gave it to me.'

Sarah had not noticed how tired Delaine looked until that moment. She still carried herself erect and her head was held painfully high; but the hollows of her eyes were grey and despite the colour she had applied her lips were bloodless.

'It will allow you to understand all that is said to you,' Delaine continued. 'And you will be understood. I ... I have also added an enchantment to it. If you are in danger or if ... if there is no hope of success to be had, this will bring you home. All you have to do is say the words.'

Sarah's fingers tightened around the cool surface. 'Thank you.'

'I wish I could do more. If there was anything...'

'There is one thing,' Sarah said slowly.

'Name it.'

'Toby. If I don't come back-'

Delaine shook her head. 'Sarah, don't even think like that.'

'Delaine, please. I need to hear you say it. I need to know that if I don't return you'll look after him.'

A spasm, quickly controlled, crossed her face. 'Of course I will.'

They looked at another for a moment, these two women of different worlds. One with the wisdom of long years and much experience, the other with the fast-earned knowledge that comes with so short a life. Each found their complement in the other and for that moment a comfort in the other's embrace.

* * *

_She had not meant to wander so far into the Labyrinth. There were maps of the Underground, Jareth had told her, but she had none with her. Not that she was convinced that a map of the Labyrinth would be of any use, as it constantly shifted and rearranged itself. But the castle was immediately behind her - all she had to do was go back the way she had come._

_Sarah turned. The castle was not immediately behind her, despite the fact that she had checked its location about ten seconds before and had not moved from the spot since. She suppressed a flutter of panic. This was the Labyrinth. Jareth's Labyrinth. Nothing too awful could happen to her here. She moved cautiously along the walkway, her eyes darting from side to side. It was one of those annoyingly quiet areas in the vast maze - no riddling doorkeepers, no irritable knockers, not even a False Alarm. There were, however, when she came to the end of the walkway, two sign-posted paths leading in opposite directions. One - rather stating the obvious, in Sarah's opinion - was named "The Road That Goes This Way." The second bore a sign with the equally helpful legend, "The Road That Goes Another Way."_

_Great, she thought._

_Deciding that "Another Way" looked marginally less creepy than the first, she started down it. It was not long before she found another plaque on the wall, half covered over with ivy. "Mind The Hole."_

_She looked around. 'What hole?' She pressed the ground ahead tentatively with her foot. 'There is no ho-'_

_She landed with a thud, her fall broken somewhat by the sponge-like growth that covered the bottom and sides. A sign was directly in front of her eyes: "This Hole, Stupid". Sarah struggled to get herself upright, but found that the lining of her hole had attached itself firmly to her and was twisting itself around her arms and legs._

_'Stop it. Hey, I said stop it! Let go of me!' There were tiny voices joined in joyful singing. The sound was excessively annoying, but not nearly as much as the sound that drowned it out - rich, ringing laughter._

_'Well, you can't say that you weren't warned.'_

_Sarah glared at him. 'This isn't funny.'_

_Jareth had found a protruding rock to lean against and he stroked his chin thoughtfully as he looked down at her. 'Much as I hate to contradict you, it is.'_

_'Are you going to get me out of here or not?'_

_He watched her, sprawled and struggling, and didn't bother to conceal his amusement. 'You're not really in a position to make demands.'_

_'What ever happened to "I will be your slave", huh?'_

_'As I recall it was turned down in favour of "I don't want you to be my slave, Jareth," ' he purred in a deeply unconvincing impression of her._

_'Fine,' she spoke with gritted teeth. 'I'll get out on my own.'_

_'If you keep struggling you'll only make it worse,' he informed her helpfully. Mortal curses were not particularly inventive, he reflected moments later, but they were very colourful. He watched her increasingly frantic struggles and then decided to take pity on her. 'Release her!'_

_The growth obeyed the resounding command with little sighs of disappointment. Jareth grasped hold of her wrist and hauled her unceremoniously upwards. Sarah dusted herself off, ran her fingers through her hair and tried to recover some of her dignity. 'Enjoyed that, did you?'_

_His eyes held a predator's gleam. 'Well, I do always enjoy seeing you writhing around on your back.'_

_She sniffed. 'Uh-huh. You better enjoy the memory of it, because it's not something you're gonna be seeing for a while.'_

_He leant against the wall, his arms folded and eventually called after her retreating form, 'It's this way.' The opening had appeared beside him, the path revealed leading directly to the castle_

_She stopped dead; he saw her back stiffen. She stalked back and glared up mutinously when she reached him. 'If you ever fall down a hole, you can stay down it for all I care. In fact, I'll set up a deck-chair for myself and just watch. And laugh. And sell pictures.'_

_He pulled her to him. 'We'll see.'_

* * *

The incense had a soporific effect. In the close confines of the temple the cloying fumes coupled with the wavering notes of the chant lulled her into a waking doze. It was Vathani who sang: her voice was untrained but sweet and strong. She was in the fifth season of her duties as a Chantress of Ramitser and in the dim hazy light her black eyes shone with the fervour of devotion. As her voice rose and fell, the holy man performed the rituals to the god. His head was shaved, his upper body covered with tattoos and the white cloth tied around his waist fell to his feet. His movements were hypnotic and Sarah found her own body swaying in an unintentional mimicry of his. He faced his god; the gold visage and jewelled eyes were fixed in the eternal stare, gazing unseeing beyond the walls of the temple and the confines of the living world. She watched the play of taut muscle across the priest's back as he made his offering. Between his shoulder blades the tattoo of an eye stared back at her unblinking; it was looking directly at her and she was being drawn into it, she could not look away...

_'They will call you Firedancer, Mistress of the Winds, Lady of Starlight.'_

The priest turned, his outstretched hands coated in the sacred oil seemed as though stained with blood. He marked her with his blessing, the oil burning her skin. Vathani placed flowers around her neck and called on the god to protect the traveller.

'Master of the Silent, Lord of Amber, we humbly submit ... Take your child across waters and through air in your embrace...'

The priest's hands landed on her bowed head, their weight crowning her.

_Will you submit to the paths, daughter?'_

The brand of the god sank into her skin. Sarah rose, grey eyes glittering like polished steel.

_'Lead me, I will come.'_


	7. New Angels of Promise

The cool snap of evening revived her after the incense-laden air of the temple. The hours of twilight had claimed the land, turning everything in the landscape to blurred shapes of blue, starlight and shadow. The path from the temple back to the house was illumined by paper lanterns that hung in the twisted branches of silent trees. No-one spoke as they walked; Sarah would probably not have heard anything that was said to her in any event. The echo of a voice still sounded in her head. My, my, Sarah Williams, she thought to herself, what have you become? Being in conversation with a god comes as no surprise to you.

The horses were waiting for them, their elegant heads held high over proudly arched necks. They were restive and nervy, their hooves pawing the ground in anticipation of their night run.

'I'm not really much of a horsewoman,' Sarah said to Rajad, eyeing the horses. 'And when I say not much, what I really mean is not at all.'

'Yes, Delaine told me. It is the quickest way - by foot the path is arduous and would take far more time than we have. I, however, am an excellent horseman, andit will be my privilege to carry you.'

Vanity, she reflected, appeared to be a common attribute among the Fae. But Rajad's boast was not an idle one, as she was soon to learn. He placed his hands lightly on his mare's back and vaulted effortlessly into the saddle with a movement so fluid his body had barely seemed to bend. She couldn't help an amazed gasp as she looked at him. He extended a hand to her and, using the toe of his boot as a foothold, Sarah was pulled up to meet him.

Delaine did not bother with a saddle or bridle. She spent some moments whispering into her horse's pricked ears and than sprang nimbly onto the strong back. Sarah watched her with admiration and a pang of jealousy. She made a mental note that riding lessons were to be a priority upon her return home. Ambrosius was also mounted - and he held Toby tightly to him. Sarah had wanted to leave him under Vathani's watchful supervision, but he had pleaded so insistently that she had, eventually, given in. And Ambrosius had assured her that no harm would befall him. They would all, therefore, escort her to the Tower of Virtues.

Rajad gathered the reins in one hand; his free arm wrapped around Sarah's waist and held her to him snugly. They probably made a very romantic picture, she thought; although, hers was an exceedingly uncomfortable position. If it were Jareth's arm around her now, if it were his body pressed firmly against hers... She would not want it to end. The horses were straining and at a word from Rajad they were released. Sarah gasped as the horse started to move, suddenly aware of its strength and easy grace. She turned her head and saw the figures standing on the wide steps, their arms waving in farewell. One had a pennant that she was fluttering madly above her head; and their voices, calling out words of parting and wishes of luck, echoed after them.

Sarah grasped the pommel and clung on; the only riding experience she had was a donkey ride at a fête when she was seven years old. Even so, she was certain that no horse could - or should - go this fast. They had taken the path that plunged deep into the forest, but she could see nothing of the scenery - it was a dark blur on either side as they sped along, the drumming of hooves on the hard ground only fractionally slower than her heart-rate. The wind whipped against her face until her eyes were streaming.

They rode hard. The deep blue of evening gave way to the black of night; the air was so clear that when the moon rose the contours of the landscape were precision-defined and bathed in silver. Sarah would have appreciated it, were it not for the fact that she was entirely focused on staying in the saddle. Her whole body was tensed and she was convinced that at any moment she would tumble to earth. Rajad held onto her grimly, his arm tightening around her squirming form until she could hardly breath. He did not ride in the stiff-backed manner of equestrians Sarah had seen on TV; his body moved with and in response to the horse and Sarah was forced to bend and move with him. It was a relief when they drew to a halt at a stream to allow the horses a well-earned drink. Sarah slithered to the ground, her legs feeling strangely hollow. She stretched out her jarred spine while the riders watered their mounts. Vathani's numerous bracelets jangled musically as she stroked the sleek neck of her gelding; his mane was almost as dark as her hair as she bent her head close to his.

'How are you doing, kiddo?'

Toby's luminous face was answer enough. 'This is so cool! D'you think Rajad will teach me to ride? Did you see the way he mounted the horse? It was, like...' Words failed him; his hands moved in a flowing motion that echoed Rajad's impressive grace. Sarah stifled a laugh; it was the first time that Toby had ever referred to Rajad with anything like admiration and may signal that he had - at least in part - forgiven the Elf for having been married to Toby's idol. She gave her brother some water and then drank some herself before crouching down to refill her flask from the stream. The water was ice-cold and heady. The rich and pretentious would pay a fortune for this stuff, she thought, drinking deeply and then refilling. From deep in the forest came the faint, high whinny of a horse. The animal drinking next to Sarah threw its head back, showering her with drops of icy water, and answered the call. Ears pricked, their breath frosting, the horses quivered as they stared into the dark woodland.

'Who else is there?' Sarah asked tensely as Rajad helped her up.

'Don't worry; it's just the wild horses. They run free in the forests - magnificent animals.' His horse nudged his head indignantly and Rajad stroked her damp muzzle, laughing. 'Not as magnificent as you, Rashira, obviously.' He hunted in his pockets before locating a sugar lump and fed it to her. 'Just like a big dog, really,' he commented, running his fingers through her mane. Like all of his kind, Rajad had a way with animals and the sight of his handsome face softening as he spoke into the mare's ear was a touching one. That sentiment was shared by Delaine, if the fleeting look of tenderness that crossed her face was anything to go by.

It was noticeably colder; the ground beneath their feet hard with frost. Sarah was grateful for the warmth of her travelling costume: knee-high boots, breeches and, best of all, the black jacket that fell to mid-thigh, the supple leather moulding itself to her form. It was lined with silk - shimmering midnight blue that, she could swear, still held the scent of its previous owner.

'We ride on!'

Sarah settled into the saddle again, feeling slightly more at ease than she had the first time around. She was prepared now for the sudden surge of strength from both horse and rider. They followed the path up the mountainside and as they passed the tree-line the first drifts of snow became visible. The way had been cleared for them and while the horses still maintained a breathless speed, it was slightly slower than before; the way was picked with more care. The air was thinner and Sarah felt her chest constricting as she breathed; the speed and lack of oxygen was dizzying: she kept getting flashes of strange faces peering out of the darkness either side of them as they sped past. She didn't know if they were real or simply her imagination and she didn't care anymore. She wanted ground under her feet, a clear head and one true deep breath of air. Her face was starting to feel numb and her eyelids kept closing against her will. She didn't know how long she stayed in this half-conscious state but was jolted out of it when Rajad - his voice close to her ear - shouted something to the other riders. They slowed and Sarah blinked rapidly to clear the fog from her eyes. They had reached the summit and were running easily along a fairly flat stretch of land towards a bridge. It spanned two mountaintops and on the peak opposite and slightly above them rose the Tower of Virtues.

The hooves echoed hollowly as the crossed the bridge. It was wide, built of solid stone and all along it was flanked by statues of fabulous winged creatures. But Sarah was aware only of the fact that the aged stone was the only thing between them and a very long way down to the valley floor.

She focused on the Tower. It was a dark, tiered mound silhouetted against the stars and at its very top there was a motionless figure. There was something strangely familiar about it.

They passed through the gateway in the outer wall and, finally, were brought to a stop. They dismounted gratefully; and as the horses were tethered Sarah looked back across the bridge. For a moment she thought it was her eyes still foggy from the change in altitude, but when she looked again it was still there. It advanced across the plateau and to a casual glance was nothing more than mist. But as Sarah stared at it she could see the shapes; a faint ragged army that drifted mournfully across the land.

'What is that?'

'Such things have always been seen in the forest - and not everything in the forest is friendly.' Rajad watched them uneasily. 'They will not cross the bridge. I do not know what they are; and I will not choose tonight to find out,' he added grimly, turning back to tend to Rashira. He pulled a blanket from his saddle bag and draped it over her haunches.

Sarah joined her other companions and gazed up at the huge structure, frowning. 'I know this place... I've been here before - this is in Rome.' She looked around. They were very definitely not in Rome, but...

'There are ancient ley lines in all our worlds, Sarah,' Ambrosius said, rubbing the small of his back. He smiled at her ruefully. 'I think I'm beginning to feel my age. As I was saying, ley lines... If you think of all the different worlds lying in layers, all with their ley lines running through them, well, sometimes those lines intersect or follow the same route. And when that happens a natural portal is formed. The Tower lies on a point that connects to every known realm - and many unknown ones.' He smiled at her. 'Are you ready?'

She met his black eyes. 'No. But lead on anyway.'

He grasped her shoulder briefly and then started towards the great opening. A small dark shape swooped low over their heads, fluttering in the moonlight.

'I hate those things,' Delaine said, eyeing the bat with distaste. The faint beat of its wings was the only sound that broke the silence.

'If you don't bother it, it won't bother you,' Rajad responded; he took hold of her arm and pulled her inside, glancing over his shoulder at the mist that had now gathered at the opposite end of the bridge.

Rizan took hold of Delaine's other arm. 'I've had a great idea about how you can develop your writing career Underground.'

'Go on.'

'Are you ready for this?' He gestured expansively. 'A series of Elf-help books. Elf-help.' He sniggered. 'Get it?'

Delaine laughed in spite of herself. 'It's taken you this whole time to come up with that?'

He grinned at her.

Sarah heard Vathani muttering something under her breath that seemed to link Rizan's parentage with a camel; she hope that Toby hadn't heard it as it would no doubt become his favourite saying for the next decade.

The great dark mouth of the opening led into a gloomy interior of cold stone and high slit-like windows that allowed shafts of moonlight to cut across the paved floor. They started up a gently sloping ramp. It was wide and high enough for horses to pass and followed the shape of the rotunda. Heavy iron brackets held torches that had already been lit. Someone was expecting them, but there was no sound and no sign that anyone else was there. Anyone else living, at any rate. Sarah had the unnerving feeling that unseen eyes were watching them from the shadows.

She remembered that holiday in Rome. Trying to fit every major Italian city into two weeks with... Rob? She was fairly confident that had been his name. Just after graduation. Somewhere, in her old life, there were the photographs of the two of them standing sweltering on the bank of the Tiber, squinting into the camera held by a friendly Japanese tourist, the Ponte Sant' Angelo stretched behind them.

They had reached the level of the ramparts. The summit of the monument was surprisingly close and its statue clearly visible: the great winged figure sheathing its sword. Ambrosius drew them to a halt and they stood, listening. Sarah could hear nothing except her own laboured breathing; it still felt as though an iron band had been tightened around her chest. She felt Toby knock against her and automatically reached for him.

'What are we waiting for?' he tried to keep his voice to a whisper but it still echoed around the curving passage.

'I don't know,' she whispered back. Ambrosius silenced them peremptorily. The wind was barely audible through the thick walls but the occasional gust found its way through the narrow windows, stirring their hair and the shimmering gold of Vathani's robes. The torches guttered, thin plumes of smoke sent spiralling into the air, and then went out. The darkness was complete. Sarah felt Toby pressing closer against her, sensed Rajad and his brother shifting restlessly nearby, heard Vathani's soft murmuring that sounded like a prayer.

There was an explosion of light; it rippled along the passageways and with it came voices and music and laughter. The floor was tiled in black and white; the defensive slits in the now white walls gave way to huge windows and lamps of distinctly Art Deco design had replaced the torches. Above and below them and spilling out onto the ramparts was a crowd of happy partygoers. The men were elegant in black-tie, the women flaunting their flared silks and draped chiffons. A man hurried down the wide tiered steps to greet them, his red hair shining like fire. He grasped Ambrosius warmly by the hand.

'Ah, there you are, Raphael.' Ambrosius looked around mildly. 'This is all very ... colourful.'

'We were not sure exactly when you would arrive, but everyone was very keen to be here. Although, I'm sure that Lord Rajad would say that all this is because we cannot make an entrance with making a bloody song and dance of it, eh, my friend?'

'I would say no such thing,' Rajad replied stiffly, but the suspicious glances he had been darting at the gathering belied his words.

Raphael's smile broadened. He was not handsome, exactly; but there was something arresting about his face and a great deal of humour in the depths of his hooded eyes. His easy charm was in evidence as he greeted the rest of them. 'And you are the only two I have not met before,' he concluded, taking in Sarah and Toby with one glance.

Sarah took hold of the hand he extended to her. 'I am-'

'Sarah,' he said, smiling. 'Yes, I do know. And hello, Toby. Did you enjoy your first horseback ride?'

Toby stared at him. 'Yeah. How did you...'

Raphael winked and tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially; he still had hold of Sarah's hand and drew her arm through his, escorting her gallantly up the sloping passage. She walked with him without a murmur; at that first touch she had felt warmth spreading through her - and the jagged wound inside was a little less painful. For the first time in days she felt a faint echo of the happiness she had once known.

Whatever you expect, Ambrosius had told her, you will be wrong. Better to expect nothing. Sarah had never suffered from a lack of imagination, but Ambrosius had been correct - she would never have expected this. The laughter around her was like the peal of merry bells, but beautiful and inhuman. And even though Raphael, with his cheery smile and kind, wise eyes, was the picture of a debonair gentleman, he was light and fire made flesh. And even though the face he now wore was borrowed, it still glowed. They all glowed slightly, lit with their own inner radiance. The Shining Ones.

They reached the upper level; it was quieter, less crowded, the laughter from below floating up on air scented with gardenias and faded roses. As Raphael drew her across the floor, Sarah felt someone grasp her free hand; she was spun around and found herself confronting a great bear of a man. He wore the rough dark habit of a monk and his tallow-coloured hair stood around his head like a demented halo.

'So, this is her,' he boomed, inspecting her. He jabbed a large finger into her arm and shook his head disapprovingly. 'Too thin. She's too thin and too pale, Raphael.' Without warning he seized her chin, forcing her head back so he could peer intently into her eyes. 'You are walking from light into darkness, child, and what will be demanded of you is blood and flesh and bone. And-'

'You're making her nervous, Gabriel.' Raphael took hold of the wide shoulders and firmly steered him away from Sarah. She watched the shambolic figure obediently following his elegant companion. When she spoke her voice sounded slightly higher than usual. 'I always thought that Gabriel was supposed to be female.'

'A common misconception,' Ambrosius replied. 'Ah, now that's more like it.'

The man who approached them this time was tall and slender, his black hair brushed back from a high forehead. He had the slim face of an aesthete; his eyes were his most attractive feature: fringed with dark lashes they shifted from grey to green and gave nothing away.

'You know me.' It was not a question, but a statement of fact. And in that moment, as Sarah looked at him, she knew him as though she had known him all her life.

'Michael.'

The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly – the only evidence of a smile. How long she had been gazing at him she did not know, but somehow she had been drawn away from the others, guided by a touch on her arm so light she had been unaware of it. Delaine was chatting with Raphael, her head tilted towards his flirtatiously. Rajad had found an admirer of his own, but he kept glancing over at the lovely face now alive with laughter. The only other one of her companions she could see was Toby; he had found two other children – a little boy and a girl with platinum blonde curls and a particularly angelic face – and all three had started an impromptu game of tag through the mingling crowds that Toby, even at the grand age of ten, was not too old for.

She drifted across the floor on Michael's arm. It was the strangest sensation: she could feel the marble floor beneath her feet but she felt as disengaged as she would in a dream. The knowledge of her loss and of what lay ahead of her was still immediate in her mind, but the aching void that Jareth had left behind no longer completely clouded her thoughts. By the time they reached the head of a staircase she was able to smile at her companion. They stood at the top; its surface was so highly polished that Sarah could see their reflections - broken and refracted - looking up at them. 'You know,' she said meditatively, 'when I was a kid I always wanted to tap-dance down one of these. Too many old black-and-white movies, I guess.'

'And now you have put away childish things?' Michael asked, his eyes crinkling again.

'More or less, I think.'

'I have always thought that the ambitions of childhood are the ones that should be fulfilled,' he informed her, holding out his hands.

'What- No! I mean... I can't dance. Not like that. And I don't even have the right dress.'

'Don't you?'

She should have realised, she thought, as she looked down at the swirling silvery chiffon trimmed with ostrich feathers. She twirled around experimentally, watching with satisfaction how the skirt wrapped itself around her body before unfurling again. She raised a hand to her head; her fingers met the rigid set of marcel waves in her hair.

Michael took hold of her. 'Ready?'

Her feet seemed to know the steps. The invisible band had started up a lively percussive number and they glided down the stairs to its beat. He held her respectfully but firmly and from the spectators above and below came cries of encouragement. Sarah felt light enough to simply float away if not for Michael's hands holding her down.

When they reached the bottom she turned to him, laughing. Nothing in his face had changed, nor in the way he looked at her. But she felt the change, nonetheless. 'I didn't come here to dance.

'No.'

'It's time now, isn't it?'

Michael nodded. The lights had dimmed and the joyous sounds of celebration had fallen silent, receding back into the worn stone that contained so many memories. The last of her childhood dreams had gone, as though it had never existed.

'I'm scared.'

'That is good. Fear will make you cautious - and you will need to be cautious, Sarah.' He held her gaze and then smiled. 'It's this way.'

The door was small, inconspicuous - strangely out of keeping with the surrounding grandeur. They were waiting for her, huddled together; only Raphael - his impossibly red hair glinting despite the gloom - stood apart. She crouched in front of Toby. 'I'm going to say good-bye now.'

'But, Sarah!'

'But nothing. This is it; this is as far as you go. I want you to stay out here. And behave yourself for once in your life, okay?'

One corner of his mouth twitched and he tried to out-stare her. Then his eyes fell. 'Okay.'

She went through the motions of saying farewell. Toby's embrace was hard and clinging, but even as she held him she felt as though someone else was guiding her actions; all the emotions that would otherwise have paralysed her had been blocked. She submitted to Rizan's crushing hug and accepted a kiss on each cheek from Vathani. Ambrosius held her by the shoulders and then let her go. They had already said all that they could say to one another.

He had made her no promises - he had given up on that a long time ago. The sight of her determined face filled him with pride and sorrow. It was not the task he would have wished for her. Yet, she would not always be entirely alone. That kernel of knowledge was the sole consolation he had.

It went without question that Delaine would stay with her until the end. It was her right, after all. Equally without question was that Rajad would stay with Delaine.

What a devoted group we are, she thought. She had come to despise that sly, sarcastic little voice in her head. It was, she knew, born of grief and fear and the sooner she could rid herself of it, the better. She looked back at Toby; Vathani's hands rested lightly on his shoulders and Sarah felt sure that he couldn't get up to too much mischief while under those watchful dark eyes.

Sarah passed through the doorway and after a moment heard it close behind her. The Mirror of the Worlds stood before her. It took up most of the wall; its frame of heavy silver had once been highly decorated, but over thousands of years it had been worn down until only the occasional ridge or depression spoke of what had been. The surface was smooth and hard but she had the feeling that there was something behind it, something waiting to be woken and called forth. The room was dim, the few torches fixed to the walls not strong enough to penetrate the gloom of the vaulted ceiling above them. The air was cold and held the bitter taste of dust and dead flowers. Sarah inched forward, her eyes fixed on the mirror. She could see nothing in it until she stood directly in front of it; her face looked drained of colour, the black of her clothes blended into the ill-lit background so that she had the unnerving impression that her disembodied head was suspended in the air. Behind her she could see Delaine and Rajad - two blurred, watery figures. Sarah moistened her lips and turned to Michael and Raphael.

She screwed up her eyes against the sudden light; there was music in the air, a strange, low song that vibrated in her chest. And then, as her eyes adjusted, she saw him – Michael, the Seraph, in all his glory. The fabric draped sinuously around his body glistened like a snake's skin. He had six wings, in all, of emerald feathers, each fringed with saffron and each with a dark eye upon it. But these eyes were not simply markings like a peacock's feathers: these were living, seeing eyes. Two wings swept across his lower body, covering his feet; another two masked three of his faces that shone with unbearable beauty – the forth was clearly visible and at that moment Sarah felt that she could quite happily spend the rest of her life staring at it. The final pair of wings curved above him, the tips almost touching the high roof of the chamber and as they stirred slightly they sent a warm breeze across her face.

It was with great effort that Sarah forced herself to turn her attention to Raphael. His four wings were of scarlet and gold and as she watched him his features changed so that one moment he had the head of a great lion, the next the face of a Renaissance youth. On either side of him was a wheel of fire, their flames shooting into the air yet not scorching the stone floor; even these wheels seemed to have eyes and wisdom of their own. A bar of flame connected them and on this stood Raphael, like a mighty charioteer. How anyone had managed to reduce the Cherubim to plump, smiling infants with gauzy wings was a mystery.

And as Sarah stood before the Cherub and Seraph she was enveloped in their light and felt the fire of love, of wisdom and of knowledge spread through her. The sacred oil that had been placed on her brow burned in response, searing across her head. Yet despite the pain she craved more of it; she was floating, suspended in liquid light. She was invincible.

No, she thought suddenly. I'm not. I am breakable; but I am strong.

'And so you are ready.' Their voices sounded together; their magnificence had not diminished, but Sarah could look at them now without cowering. She looked at Delaine and Rajad - one last good-bye. In the presence of these celestial creatures Rajad, too, had changed: he seemed lit from within, emanating a pure white radiance through which only the deep green of his eyes was clearly visible. And beside him Delaine was a living dawn, a figure of pale gold.

She was drawn back to the mirror. Her mirror self looked back at her, pale and slightly smiling. The features were familiar and yet strange; she looked at the girl with the black hair and grey eyes who had ensnared the Goblin King. Behind that silvered surface something was stirring; and from far off came a murmuring so low it was inaudible to all save her. It skimmed through her mind, brushing against her ears: the faint whisper of a voice she knew better than she knew her own that spoke her name.

'How do I get through?'

Michael stretched out a hand until one long bright finger touched the still surface. Concentric circles shivered across it and from a region far beyond, but drawing ever nearer, were hazy spirals. The patterns shifted before her mesmerised eyes until there was no solid barrier between her and what lay beyond, only that fine mist. The gateway had been opened. Something brushed against her cheek - a long tendril from that swirling mass had reached out to caress her, to draw her in. And that voice was louder, more insistent. This was it, she thought. There was no turning back now, even if she wanted to. The path had claimed her and she would follow it to the end. She took a step forward and felt that cold embrace envelop her.

The torches burned lower and the magnificence that had flooded the chamber faded; the two figures that still remained shivered slightly. There was nothing more to see in the mirror, only the twisting plumes behind the rippling surface. But still Delaine stood staring into its depths as though she could follow the progress of that solitary figure through sheer force of will. The agitated surface calmed; and as the ripples slowed her reflection became visible. Rajad watched as her face, distorted, shifted out of focus and then reformed before the mirror's surface finally stilled and her reflection, the pale perfect copy of the living woman, looked back at him unseeing, just out of his reach. She had always been just out of his reach, even when she had lain in his arms. With youthful arrogance he had presumed he knew her and so he had lost her. In many ways they were closer now than they had been then. Pride on both sides had been worn down by experience; they could understand one another better now. But she was still just out of his reach.

He studied her profile: the clean sweep of her jaw up to the hollow just behind her ear, the markings that curved around her eyes and almost disappeared when she laughed. And that one stubborn lock of hair that always coiled itself around the base of her throat.

'I can ask Vathani if she will stay with you.'

'Vathani,' she repeated. 'Yes. That would be ... good.'

The cracks were starting to show; the collapse would not be far off now. He took a step toward her. 'Or, I could stay with you.'

'That would be better.'

He reached out and gently unwound the hair from her throat, his fingers brushing her skin; she turned into his arms and buried her face against his shoulder.

* * *

The wood beneath her fingers was smooth and cool. Driftwood. Sarah leant against it and tried to remember how she had got to this place. Memory took some time to return, and when it did the images were nonsensical. A night time run on horseback, a holiday from years before, a dance hall, winged beings of light, a man with mismatched eyes.

Jareth.

Her head pounded but as she breathed the keen, salty air the ache became bearable. Sarah dragged herself to her feet and looked around. The shore was as desolate a place as she had ever seen. Grey waters washed against the shingles and cliffs loomed over her, their granite faces implacable against the wind. She had never felt cold like this. It found its way through every gap in her clothing and bit her skin, penetrating her to the bone. She had to keep moving.

Clumps of seaweed marked the line of high-tide and the waves were already racing towards it; if she continued along the beach she would be trapped by the rising waters. Sarah clapped her arms around herself, trying to coax warmth and feeling back into her stiffening limbs. There was a path leading from the beach up to the top of the cliffs. Steep and rocky it meandered up the cliff face. Precarious was an understatement, but it was her only way off the shingles. Sarah adjusted her backpack and, grabbing a handful of long rough grass, began her long ascent.


	8. Pounding Through My Head and Heart

He had never really felt the cold before. He had always enjoyed the bite of keen air or the mastering of a winter storm, allowing the currents to take him high above his lands. But this was the sort of cold that numbed; and when it did not numb him, it hurt.

And he had wandered through the cold and the dark for so long that he could barely remember where he had come from. He had lived his life by the moon and by starlight; he had known them since he was a child and had always been able to find his way home. But here there was nothing: neither moon nor stars nor light. Just the darkness. It was everything and nothing, stifling, draining.

Tired. So, so tired, right down to the bone. He had to keep moving but his feet dragged. He longed for the fierce freedom of flight, for the beat of strong wings spread wide and delicate bones weightless on the air; but he had not the strength for the change, nor the stamina to keep himself airborne. He wanted to give into the dark but he forced himself forward, one foot in front of another, over and over and...

There was light ahead of him. Two glowing sliver orbs. They led him through the maze, dark passages and worn stone. If he could reach the light he would be safe. If he could find it. If he could find her. Her eyes; her light; her sunlight, warming him. His love for her had swept through him like a fever. Only more surprising was her love for him, as all consuming as fire. She was just ahead of him, he could almost touch her, taste her. He couldn't reach her. She ran from him, laughter clear and light and he couldn't keep up with her. Pain, too much pain, robbing him of breath.

'Wait. Please.' He would beg, if that were what she wanted. He stretched out his hand to where she had been, fingers quivering blindly. But there was still warmth. Warmth and light and pain. It speared across his chest and down one side, throbbed in the back of his head. But he was no longer walking through darkness.

He lay, only vaguely aware of the white cloisters around him. His hand was in a pool of sunlight and he watched it, moving his fingers experimentally. The pain was still there but he was lying in the comfort of a soft bed and clean sheets. He sensed a presence near him and turned his head, stifling a gasp at the agony the movement produced. Her hair was silver-blonde, her eyes as bright and hard as turquoise. She smiled.

'Welcome, Jareth, son of Thíron, King of the Underground.'

* * *

Sarah steadied herself with her hands, almost crawling up the final stretch that would take her to the top of the cliff. Despite the biting cold she was sweating from the exertion of her climb; she could feel the perspiration running down her back and her shirt clinging to her dampened skin. With one final effort she pulled herself up and forward and then knelt on the flat cliff-top, her head resting on folded arms. Her hands were raw from pulling on the rough grass, her boots already scuffed from the small stones that had shifted and rolled under her feet as she climbed.

But she had made it; and Sarah felt a great sense of pride in this first achievement.

She made herself stand up, ignoring the painful protests of her legs and took stock of her surroundings. Far below was the shingle beach and Sarah shrank from the edge, turning her back on the sea. It was a terrible view, anyway - grey and bleak and monotonous. The plateau she stood on was covered with bracken, mossy stones and the occasional spindly tree bent almost at right angles under the force of the constant wind. The vegetation thickened further inland and as this would probably be where habitation was to be found, Sarah veered away from the path along the cliff. She had not gone far before she heard it, carried on intermittent gusts so that it faded in and out like a badly tuned radio: music, the sweet sound of a flute. Sarah followed the sound cautiously, half expecting to find Pan himself waiting for her.

Her musician, when she located him, was a far less exotic figure. As she headed deeper into the scrubby woodland a ridge of stone rose alongside her and it was at a point along this natural wall that he was sitting. Sarah hugged the trees, treading lightly to minimise the sound of her approach and wincing every time a dry twig broke underfoot. Not that he appeared to have noticed her at all; he seemed to be having some trouble with his tune and kept repeating the same notes before glaring at his flute. Then he looked up, straight at her.

'Sarah!'

He scrambled down nimbly and grinned at her, tossing unruly black curls out of his eyes. He had a strong, striking face. 'I was not sure when you would be arriving, or which direction you would be coming from.' He took in her slightly dishevelled appearance. 'Did you climb up the cliff?'

'Yes.'

'Oh. Bad luck.'

She stared at him, feeling slightly murderous. His coal black eyes twinkled back at her over a rather hawk-like nose. 'Who are you?'

His grin broadened. 'I am a friend of Jareth's.'

Her bewilderment increased. 'But who-'

'We do not really have time for a lot of talking.'

'But-'

'Shh!' He grabbed hold of her arm, dragging her against the ridge and forcing her to crouch down. 'Do not move!'

Her face was in unpleasant proximity to the rough stone and the mossy substance that covered it. There were footsteps drawing closer – a heavy tread from above them; some loose stones rattled down the side of their shelter, hitting her head and filling her eyes with grit. She could hear voices but the wind carried the words away, rendering them intelligible. The apparent debate went on for some moments and the footsteps retreated, accompanied by the clash of metal that Sarah recognised as armour. She felt her companion raise his head and then stand; she followed him. 'Who were they?' She kept her voice low.

'Soldiers. Looking for someone.'

'Would that someone be you?'

'Mmm. Stay here a minute.'

He changed as easily as Jareth could; it was so quick and smooth that had she not seen it done before she would have questioned her own sanity. The hawk soared upwards.

'Where would I go?' she murmured, tracking his progress. He circled lazily and from high above she heard his piercing cry of release and joy. She remembered the feeling and for a few moments was lost in memory; but then he dropped back down to earth, falling past her like a stone, the flurry of wings changing to the rustle of fabric and leather.

'They have moved on, but there will be other patrols in the area – we have to move quickly. Stay close and if I say run, run.'

He didn't bother to wait for a reply but swung away from her, following a path into the woods so overgrown it was barely discernible. Sarah broke into a light jog to catch him up. 'Why are soldiers looking for you?'

'Would you shoot a messenger?'

'What?'

'Exactly! Neither would I.' His words were barely above a whisper as he spoke. 'If someone asks you to tell them something and then you do, it is not your fault if they do not like what you tell them. So, there you have it.'

'Great. Thanks for clearing that one up.' They picked their way carefully through an area of brambles and nettles. 'So, do you have a name apart from Friend of Jareth's?'

He seemed to consider this. 'You can call me Emrys,' he said finally.

'Is that your name?'

'It is what people call me.'

You're a friend of Jareth's all right, she thought; they must teach evasiveness in Fae school. Sarah had the distinct impression that he was enjoying her frustration.

They were moving more quickly and the path was starting to darken. The light was fading even though it was, at the most, late afternoon. Sarah stumbled, barely keeping herself upright and squinted into the gloom after her guide. With his dark clothes and black hair, Emrys all but melted into the shadows. 'Do you know how I can find Jareth?' she asked, needing to break the silence.

'Not now. Later,' he hissed back. But, still walking, he groped for her hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

They entered a clearing. The earth had been disturbed at some point and the grass now covered a series of small, regular mounds. Some of them were headed by swords driven into the ground, their blades dull and rusted, the hilts broken.

'What is this place?'

'It is an old burial ground. Roman Centurions.'

She caught her breath. Unless the Roman Empire had spread further than anyone had ever guessed, she had to be Aboveground; but not in the Aboveground she knew. 'So,' Sarah said slowly, 'this is the past?'

'Well, you could say it is someone's past. You could also say it is someone's future, depending on where you are starting from.'

He led her around the edge of the clearing, but her eyes were drawn back to those sad little heaps. And she wondered about the men who slept beneath those unkempt monuments and if there had been anyone who had grieved for those who had died so far from home. She turned away, following Emrys back into the thickets. They continued in silence and the shadows of dusk drew closer around them. Every now and then she heard something stirring in the undergrowth - the rustling of leaves and then a sharp sound, a sudden pounce. The moon had not yet risen and she strained her eyes to keep track of Emrys. Sarah drew a breath of relief when they entered another clearing and this one, at least, had some sign of life. A series of waterfalls spilled into a stream of dark water and the rippling surface reflected the stars above. But neither did they cross the stream, nor mount the bank above the falls. Sarah followed Emrys to the water's edge and then, over stones slippery with weeds and worn smooth by water, along the path that led behind the waterfall itself. It was little more than a ridge and Sarah hugged the wall behind her. The roar from the curtain of water was deafening; the spray struck her face and what light there was, refracted through billions of falling drops, dazzled her eyes with dizzying patterns. She spread her arms either side, her fingers trying - and failing - to keep a hold of the slimy surface; she had pressed herself to the rock as close as she was able and the objects hanging from her belt jabbed into her. Rivulets of water were running down her face, into her eyes; and then a hand grabbed hold of her, pulling her, and she half-fell through an opening.

It was a natural cave, hidden by the waterfall. The sound bounced off the walls and in the darkness all that Sarah could see of Emrys were his teeth and the whites of his eyes.

'That is the hard part over,' he announced, his singsong accent particularly grating at that moment. 'Well, for now, anyway.'

Sarah wiped her face with her hands - a futile gesture, as every exposed part of her was soaked - and pushed the strands of wet hair off her forehead. 'Right about now would be a really good time to start answering some questions.'

'We do not have much further to go, and I promise,' he raised his voice to drown out hers, 'that I will answer all of your questions soon.'

Sarah blew out a breath.

'I know it is a lot to ask for you to trust me, Sarah. But I am your friend, I will swear to that.'

'Okay. Fine. Where do we go now?'

'There is an opening at the back of the cave. It leads onto a passage and that is what we follow.' In the darkness she sensed more than saw him move and flame ignited between them. It danced in the palm of his hand and he took hold of one of hers; she stiffened automatically, resisting. 'It is all right; it will not burn.' He tipped his hand and poured a little of the fire into her cupped hand. Sarah held it up to her face and watched as it grew slightly; a faint tickle against her skin was all she felt. The resulting light was just enough for both of them to see their way and Sarah followed Emrys to the back of the cave and the small opening that was almost lost in the shadows of the jagged rocks. It was triangular in shape, narrowing at the top, and she stooped to pass through. The passage beyond was wider and higher; the darkness was so intense that her flickering light only illumined a few feet ahead of her. A faint squeak and the sensation of something running over her foot told her that a rodent colony was in residence; Sarah preferred not to think about it.

Being stuck below the ground and in the near-dark with nothing but a stranger and your own thoughts for company is not conducive to a feeling of ease. And Sarah was becoming increasingly uneasy as they progressed. She was not particularly claustrophobic, but she longed to be out of the tunnels. The walls were closer together and the air had become a little heavier. Her foot caught and she staggered, arms windmilling as she tried to keep her balance at the same time as keeping her little flames alight and secure in her outstretched palm. One hand clawed at the wall and a number of objects, dry and brittle, fell to the ground, clattering against the stone. The sound of their falling echoed along the passageway. Sarah took another step forward and something crunched underfoot. She lowered her hand until a flickering pool of light encircled her feet and stared at what lay on the ground. Her breath caught in her throat. Slowly she raised the light in her hand. Cut into the wall next to her were a series of shelves and on them... She felt the scream rising, but it stuck in her throat, choking her; Sarah took a step back and found herself backed against the opposite wall. She didn't want to look; she didn't want to turn her head and see what she knew would be looking back at her.

The skull was on level with her face, the empty eyes looking into hers. The shelves were lined with them: skeletons, some with bits of cloth or taut dried skin still attached to the bone, arranged in the peaceful pose of death. She had chosen to follow death and now it was surrounding her. It was in the air; it was everywhere, stalking her. And she had followed a man into this place; a man she did not know; a man who may be planning to add her to this grisly collection.

'Sarah?'

She let out a cry and pulled back from him, falling against the wall and sending dry bone splintering to the ground. Her guide-light extinguished but his still lived, crimson light playing over his face and reflecting in his black eyes, like embers in the heart of a dead fire. He looked demonic.

'Please. Please don't hurt me.' She heard herself beg and despised herself for it, but terror had gripped her. One tiny voice screamed in her mind and she clung to it. She wanted to live. She didn't want to die in the dark and the cold. She would fight him. Her body tensed, waiting for the struggle.

'Hurt you? I am not going to hurt you!' The shock in his voice sounded genuine.

'Stay back! I-I have a knife! And I'll use it.' She fumbled at her belt, trying to remember which way Sir Didymus had told her to hold it. 'Not that way, my Lady! Strike upwards, not down.'

Emrys retreated a few steps. 'All right, all right!' He looked around. 'It is the catacombs, that is all. I am sorry, I did not think... I should have warned you. I will get you out of here-'

'No! I'm not taking another step until I know who you are. You were waiting for me; how did you know to wait for me? How do you know me?'

'I told you,' he said quietly. 'I am a friend of Jareth's. And I am a friend of yours, too, Sarah.'

Her chest was shaking; everything was shaking. She felt the metal of Delaine's amulet warm against her skin and the desire to grasp it, to wish herself back in the Underground, was almost overwhelming. She could find another way through, a better way.

'Sarah?'

His voice was so mellow and pleasant. And she wanted to trust him, despite herself. Sarah drew herself erect and tried to stare him down. The flame in his hand was still burning steadily and she met his gaze over it. His eyes were deep-set and hooded but there was still kindness in those depths. In the firelight his face looked thinner and as the flames danced the lower half was plunged into intermittent shadow so that only his eyes and his hooked nose were visible. His features seemed to blur and shift, reforming into something she recognised even though she knew no such change had occurred.

The tight band around her chest broke and she let out a long breath. 'Ambrosius...'

His familiar smile answered her.

She felt tears stinging her eyes and blinked them away. 'Why didn't you just tell me?'

'I did not think that you would believe me. And it was not safe to stand in the open debating the point. But I am sorry I frightened you, Sarah, I did not mean to.'

Sarah took a few steps toward him, examining her old friend's face; it was unlined, the cheeks still youthfully rounded, but it was his. 'I don't understand. I'm supposed to be finding Jareth, I'm not supposed to be Aboveground in God knows what century; and yes, yes, I know that you said this is someone's future and someone's past but that doesn't really help me, and-' She broke off, biting on her lip until she tasted the salty tang of blood.

Emrys placed a hand on her shoulder and she grasped it, squeezing her eyes tight shut. 'Sarah, you are in the right place. This is a land of future prophecy and past memory; you are outside of time. It is a nowhere place - a limbo.' He looked at the stone shelves and their grisly treasures. 'And not very comfortable for a chat. It is not much further; and then we can talk properly. All right?'

Sarah opened her eyes. 'All right.' Her eyes were drawn back to the shelves. 'Who are - were - they?'

'They were brothers in the Order. We are below the monastery.' He murmured something unintelligible and made a motion with his hands; the fragments of bone gathered themselves from the floor and returned to the shelves, knocking together as they settled. Sarah's stomach lurched. 'Well,' Emrys said with an apologetic grin, 'I could not just leave them on the floor now, could I?'

'Couldn't you?'

He patted her shoulder and gave her another handful of light. 'Come on.'

The catacombs consisted of a seemingly endless series of connected tunnels, but Emrys led the way confidently and Sarah dutifully followed him along every twist and turn. They had been so long beneath ground that when Sarah saw light ahead, beyond the circle of Emrys' torch, she thought her eyes were playing tricks. But it grew steadier and stronger until Emrys was clearly silhouetted in an open doorway.

'Emrys? Is that you?' The querulous voice came from the chamber beyond.

'Yes. And I have brought a guest.'

He ushered Sarah through the door. The room was windowless, but warm and dry and welcoming. The sole occupant rose to greet them; ink-stained fingers peeped out from rough wool mitts and his pale eyes were fixed in the squint of someone who spends long hours pouring over manuscripts. He greeted Emrys with evident relief and then- 'Oh, good Gad! It is a girl!'

'Well observed,' Emrys replied.

'But- But- You cannot bring a girl here!'

'This is not a girl,' Emrys said. 'This is Sarah. Sarah,' he repeated, with a flicker of impatience. 'I told you about her.'

'But you did not say you were going to bring her here!'

'Where was I supposed to take her? I could not just leave her in the middle of the wood, or on the beach. Vortigern's patrols are everywhere; you know what they are like.'

The older man's protests subsided into a low grumble, of which Sarah could only discern what sounded like 'Legs!' in anguished tones; he eyed her suspiciously.

Emrys sighed. 'Sarah, this is my friend Brother Blaise. Blaise, this is Sarah ... uh...'

'Williams.'

'Sarah Williams.'

'I'm so honoured to meet you,' Sarah said, with a faked sincerity so believable her mother would have been proud. Or maybe envious.

The monk appeared a little mollified. 'I understand you have had a long journey,' he said gruffly.

'It wasn't too bad, sir,' she replied meekly. 'I'm just glad to be out of the cold; I hope I'm not putting you to any trouble.'

Emrys was taken with a fit of coughing and covered his face with his hand.

'Well, humph.' Blaise cleared his throat. 'I suppose I should get you something to eat.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'Overplaying it a bit, are you not?' Emrys murmured, as Blaise busied himself at the fire.

'Shh, he's loving it.'

It was not the cosiest room Sarah had ever seen; in fact, to call it a room seemed flattery - dungeon might be more fitting. Nonetheless, she was glad to ease the backpack from her shoulders and remove her belt and her jacket, already sadly travel-stained. Blaise had reconciled himself somewhat to her presence and gave her a bowl of stew. It was simple but hearty and there was plenty of it; Sarah devoured it, suddenly aware that she had not eaten since before she had gone to the temple and she had no idea how long ago that had been. She was aware of Blaise's scrutiny of her - and that of Emrys. He was both her dear friend and a complete stranger; and as she sat and ate her stew his black eyes were friendly yet curious.

Blaise was no less curious and having recovered from the shock of having a female - and one with legs, no less - in the catacombs, he peppered Sarah with questions about the Labyrinth. The only other person she had told stories of the Underground to was Toby; it was certainly different telling an adult about it. And as Sarah answered Blaise's questions, she realised how little she knew of the place she now called her home. Occasionally she glanced at Emrys for help, but he was listening with an interest equal to the monk's and seemed unable to clarify any of the points of which Sarah was uncertain. She fell back on the only story she was sure of and told Blaise about her first encounter with Jareth, the recent battle that had been waged in the Underground and how she and Toby had finally decided to remain there. Sarah continued talking until her throat was dry and Blaise's eyes were drifting closed.

'Time you retired,' Emrys told him, offering him a hand up.

'I was not falling asleep,' the older man replied, with great dignity. 'I was merely closing my eyes in order to visualise better Mistress Sarah's tale.' Nevertheless, he accepted Emrys' hand and ambled stiffly toward the door. Emrys went with him and Sarah could hear the low murmur of voices from the corridor beyond as they discussed something that they evidently did not wish her to hear. She amused herself by exploring her surroundings, lingering by a long table illumined by a tallow candle; its surface was littered with quills, containers for ink and a neat pile that looked like a manuscript. The topmost page bore a single line of writing and after peering at it for some time, she finally worked out that the strange characters and archaic spelling translated as

_The Book of Deeds - A Chronicle of the Doings of Myrddin Emrys._

Sarah turned the pages carefully; they were covered in tiny, flowing writing and she held them as close to the tallow candle as she dared, squinting in an effort to decipher what was written. When Sarah realised that she almost had her nose on the parchment she decided to give it up and returned the pages to the pile on the table. She discovered Emrys standing behind her, watching, and felt heat rising to her face. 'Are all of these your adventures?'

'Yes. I tell Blaise everything that happens and he cannot wait to write it all down.'

She sat on the thin pallet that passed for a bed. 'Have you know him a long time?'

'I have known him all my life. He is a dear old fellow.' Emrys laughed. 'At this moment he is probably lying in his cell, working out exactly how to write up your story.'

'Mine?'

'The one you told us tonight. I do not blame him - it was a fascinating tale.'

Sarah looked at him intently for a moment. 'You ... you don't really know me, do you? I mean, you don't remember me or anything like that.'

'Well, technically we have not yet met. But I know ... of ... you, as it were. And I have seen your face - in dreams, that are like memories.'

Her smile was a little wistful; she remembered something Jareth had once said to her. 'So, you don't live backwards, then?'

His lips twitched slightly and there was a playful spark in his eyes that she knew all too well. 'Not exactly. Time is a very fluid construct - it can be reordered, it cannot be undone. Where we are now, this place, is neither past nor future. It simply is. And this is how it shall always be.'

Past memory, future prophecy...

'Do you know how my journey will end?' she asked quietly.

'No. I am sorry, Sarah.'

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak anymore.

'You should probably try to rest a little,' he volunteered.

'Yeah, maybe.' She didn't particularly feel like resting, but there was nothing else she could do. She stared into the fire, trying to steer herself away from her more morbid thoughts. Her eyelids started to grow heavy; it took a great deal of concentration to keep them open. Emrys had unearthed his flute again and was battling his way through his composition once more.

'Sounds like you're having a bit of trouble,' she commented when he had broken off - yet again - with an accusing scowl at his instrument.

'A friend suggested it to me as a hobby,' he replied. 'It is supposed to be relaxing.'

'And it isn't?'

'Not unless a feeling of murderous rage is the same thing as relaxation.'

Sarah laughed slightly. 'Not last time I checked.' She gave up the battle with her eyelids and let them drift close. It would just be for a few minutes, she told herself; she'd rest her eyes and then she'd feel much better.

* * *

Many beings had forgotten the importance of music; Jareth never had. He wondered how many of them realised that their souls were forever singing, loudly declaiming their existence, with no-one to ever listen. The worlds and all of Creation had been sung into being and though few now still heard that ceaseless vibration of Life and Love, Jareth felt it and his own songs sustained the life and love of his lands.

But there was music that he had heard once and had feared to hear again. On the beach, on a blisteringly hot day, his arm firmly around his sister's shoulders and the weight of a kingdom on his head that he had felt too young to inherit. They had watched as their father made his final journey across the great water

He had felt that music more than heard it: it had seemed far off, but he knew that it came from within; it resonated through him, the long descending notes of strings, punctuated by a bell that rang high and clear.

Every day he grew stronger; every day his injuries healed; and every day he heard it more clearly, felt it swelling inside him. It was the only music in this place and he feared it would be the only music he would ever hear again.

He had sung her a song once. A song of love and dreams and it had bound her to him. He could no longer remember it. The melody had gone and he grabbed at the fragments that remained.

Jareth paced the floor as well as he was able. Standing up had been an achievement in itself; actually walking was little short of miraculous. He had little memory of his arrival here: partial images of falling stone and ice and Delaine's scream, suddenly cut off.

The cloisters were silent; Jareth wondered if there were any other inmates or if his was the only confinement.

'You are feeling better, I see.'

He drew himself fully erect and turned. She had come to him each day, bringing food and drink and companionship. Like the other women here she was dressed in white but hers was the only face he had seen - all the other Sisters were veiled. Her hair fell down her back almost to her feet; her skin was as pale as the icicles that clung to his Labyrinth in winter. She looked fragile, breakable. But Jareth had been a player of games long enough to recognise a fellow trickster when he saw one.

She placed a tray on a low table and turned to him, her eyes examining him thoughtfully. 'You have a look of your father about you.'

He heard the clear high toll of a bell, drawing ever closer.


	9. Close Me in the Dark

Toby stood in the middle of the passageway. Most of the rubble had been cleared but there was still a fragment that had formed part of a gargoyle's face lying half-buried under fresh snow staring back up at him. Its sole remaining eye had a particularly malicious, mocking expression. When Delaine had told them that Jareth had been injured when a wall had collapsed, it had sounded faintly ridiculous; the very idea that Jareth - who was as close to being a superhero as anyone could be, as far as Toby was concerned - could be brought down by something so mundane seemed crazy.

But now, standing in this place, it did not seem crazy at all. On either side of him the walls rose to a little over thirty feet; any of the huge stone blocks that were their constituent parts could easily crush a man. The gargoyles, their twisted little faces rendered even more distorted by layers of ice, seemed to laugh at him. The gaping hole left by the rock-fall was like a wound, the jagged edges framing the passageways snow that had been pushed to the sides had formed great banks streaked black with dirt, their tops littered with bits of stone and dead tendrils of creeping ivy. It was one of the ugliest places he had ever seen.

'Toby, what are you doing here?'

He had not heard Delaine's approach and started at the mellow voice that spoke suddenly behind him; he turned, feeling slightly guilty. 'I, uh, I just...' He shrugged slightly and kicked a loose piece of stone across the ground. 'I wanted to see where it happened.' He looked up at her; Delaine's face was grave, but she did not appear angry. 'I wasn't doing anything wrong,' Toby added for good measure.

'I didn't think you were; I just wondered why you would want to come here. It's a horrible place, isn't it?'

'Yeah, it is. Can't you do something about it? Can't you fix it?' He had not meant it to sound like an accusation.

Delaine looked slightly surprised. 'I suppose I should,' she murmured. 'I had not thought...' She rested a hand on the smooth stone and felt the energy quiver through it; she pulled away sharply, her fingers burning. 'I'll have to see what I can do.'

He looked at her expectantly. Delaine laughed. 'I don't mean right this second, Toby.'

'Oh.'

She put an arm lightly around his shoulders and started back toward the castle. They walked in silence: Toby lost in his own thoughts and Delaine trying to think of some words of comfort for the child. She was very fond of Toby; in fact, she was fond of children in general - she had just never been certain how to behave towards them. Jareth had always been much better at that sort of thing, mostly because he tended to treat children exactly the way he did everyone else. Children, she had noticed, appreciated this.

She looked down at the little boy uncertainly. 'I, um, you... You should probably start having some riding lessons.'

He brightened immediately. 'Seriously? Will Rajad teach me?'

'He'd love to,' she lied.

'Will he teach me how to mount?' He had slipped his hand into hers.

'Well, obviously you have to get on the horse if you are to ride it.'

'No, I mean will he teach me to mount like he can?'

Numerous images - all of them involving painful landings - flashed through her mind. 'Let's just take it one step at a time, shall we?'

She deposited him with Ambrosius who was waiting patiently to begin the day's lessons; the wizard looked tired, she thought. Delaine made her way towards the throne room and as she walked she tried to shake off the memories that kept crowding in. The rock-fall had thrown up so much dust that at first she had been unable to see through it; but even the moment when the dust cloud had cleared and she could see the mound of fallen stone had not been the worst part. The worst had been when they had, finally, uncovered the bodies of the dead and she had cradled her brother's broken body in her lap. She had felt the splintered bones shifting in his chest and the wet sticky depression at the back of his head - only the faintest of breaths had told her he lived.

She came to a halt. Delaine tried to tell herself that she had only walked down this corridor by chance, but she hated lying to herself as much as she hated lying to anyone else. During the day she could ignore that insistent little voice that called her to the Room of Mourning; but at night it would not be silenced and she fell to imagining what the chamber would look like should she enter; how would it condense all their long years together into one image, the one that would help to ease her pain. She hovered at the door. She had vowed that she would not enter but she kept being drawn back to the plain door in the corridor with the fine, worn tapestries and the wood-panelling that smelt of lavender polish. The temptation was too great; Delaine seemed to have little do with her own hand grasping the handle and opening the door.

The air was cool and filled with birdsong and she stood, transfixed. The sweet-scented hedges that formed the walls of the little maze were higher than they should have been - she could barely see over their tops. But of course, she thought, I'm taller now. This is equivalent to how high they seemed to me as a child. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement and turned her head, just in time to see a figure disappearing around a corner.

'Dela!'

She dug her nails into the palms of her hands. His childish laughter echoed across the maze.

'Dela, come on! You'll never catch me!'

He had not called her that since childhood. From the day their father died and he had become king... For all he had tried to protect her, tried to give her all the things that he had lost, they had both had to grow up too fast.

'De-la...'

'No...' She raised her chin. 'I will not mourn him,' she informed the room at large. 'I refuse, do you understand? I am not coming back here.' Delaine pulled the door shut forcefully; the resulting dull thud reverberated along the corridor. Her fingers groped automatically for the amulet at her breast before she remembered it had gone.

* * *

Sarah opened her eyes blearily and tried to make sense of what she was looking at. The wall close to her face was stone and fine lines criss-crossed its grubby surface. She knew that Goblin maintenance left a lot to be desired, but this was ridiculous. She'd have to get Jareth to add it to his To Do list - if he kept such a thing, of course; if he did, no doubt he would give it a far grander title. Sarah stretched lazily, still half asleep. For those few moments everything was fine. And then she remembered. And everything inside her twisted painfully around itself.

She pushed herself up from her thin pallet and tried to massage the crick out of her neck. The windowless room was better lit than when she had fallen asleep but still no more welcoming - the floor was still bare and apart from where she lay there were only a few pieces of rough wooden furniture. Oil lamps had been lit on the desk and Emrys was hunched over it, his quill scratching as he wrote. 'Did you have a good sleep?'

'Eyes in the back of your head, huh?' She scrubbed at her face. Emrys turned around in his chair; a faint scar ran across his upper lip that twisted his mouth slightly when he smiled. That flaw added to the character of his face; she found herself smiling back at him. 'What time is it, anyway?'

'Time for us to be leaving. Would you like some porridge?'

She grimaced. 'No, thank you.'

'Probably a wise choice - I cannot stand the stuff either. There is also some bread, some honey and a little warmed milk. I raided the kitchen earlier, with a little help from Blaise.' He was so solicitous and had evidently gone to the trouble more for her sake than his own that she did not have the heart to refuse; and when the plate of fresh bread and glistening honey was handed to her, she ate with an appetite that surprised her.

'Where is Blaise?' she asked between mouthfuls.

'At Mass. They will not be finished before we leave - he requested that I tell you good-bye from him, and best of luck; he will be keeping you in his prayers.'

Sarah smiled; with all the luck that had been wished her in the past few days her journey should be a walk in the park. 'Tell him thank you. For everything.' Emrys stood and collected his pieces of parchment. 'You know, no-one's told me where it is I'm supposed to be going. If I am to find Jareth it would be nice if I knew where it was I'm to go. That isn't too much to ask, is it?'

He tapped the edges of the parchment together with a crack as sharp as a whip's. 'Her name is Mírthíêl. She is the Gatekeeper, and it is to her lands that Jareth has been taken.'

'And where are these lands, exactly?'

He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the pallet; she felt it dip beneath its weight but she did not pull away from him. He was used to people shrinking from him - they feared his foresight, his power. He could tell a man when and where he was to die, and they hated him for it. But this girl sat before him, trusting in him, and waited for his advice. She looked as though she should wait in a tower room, embroidering a banner for her warrior-love to display, just as any lady of nobility and breeding should. She was a lady - that was beyond question; but she would dare the gods themselves to get back what she wanted. He admired that in her. He admired a great deal in her. Her strength, her single-mindedness and the selflessness that he knew she was capable of - he had seen what was to come. Some would say that it already had been, but then time is a changeable beast.

'Where they are exactly no-one can say. What you have to understand, Sarah, is that there are no maps to guide you now. The best that you can hope for is that someone will take you to the next portal and the one after that ... until you find him. But even then, I do not think that Mírthíêl will simply accede to your wishes; she can be ... possessive.'

'Really.' Sarah tossed the shaggy dark locks out of her eyes. 'Well, I can be pretty possessive myself. Emrys, I went to the Quaternion, I spoke to them myself; and they said that I could bring Jareth home. Are you really trying to tell me that some woman with a stupid name is going to stop me?'

'You should not underestimate your opponents, Sarah,' he said sharply. 'Mírthíêl is not a fool. She can be extremely dangerous, especially when she cannot get her own way. As the Gatekeeper of the Amaranthine Realms she holds a high and powerful position - she will not take kindly to be being reminded that even she is answerable to those higher than herself.'

'You sound as if you know her pretty well.'

'I have known her. Before she became... I knew her.'

He was far away from her then; lost in memories that were more real than the bare walls that surrounded them. Sarah found a hole in the blanket and worked on enlarging it for a time before clearing her throat loudly. 'You said we had to get going soon.' He looked up at her and his black eyes flashed; in that moment she knew that people feared him, and they were right to fear that wildness in him. But she had become used to men that other people feared. She held his gaze until the wild light faded and he smiled at her.

'I will leave you for a few minutes so you can, uh, well...'

'Freshen up?'

'Yes,' he said in relief. 'Freshen up.' He seemed pleased with the phrase; his parchment was carefully rolled up and placed in the leather pouch he carried with him.

'Adding to your memoirs?' Sarah asked.

'No...' His black eyes gleamed. 'Just a story I am writing. I will be in the corridor; when you are ready, just call.'

* * *

Even when he was awake, Jareth still felt as though he were walking through a dream; he was no longer in pain, but he felt strangely disconnected from himself. He had also become increasingly aware of the activity in the cloisters beyond his own rooms - the murmur of voices and the occasional low moan of a fellow sufferer was to be heard. The Sisters of Lenity glided about efficiently, despite the handicap of their voluminous white veils. From what he could hear of their activity, Jareth was under the impression that they had an almost steady stream of guests, as his new-found friend called them charmingly. The days blurred into each other and his hold on time was slipping away.

Yet, if his waking state was confusing, it was nothing to what the night brought. He was forever trapped in a maze of his own design and making, but there was no way out. Sequences of his life played themselves over and over without any sense or reason that he could see.

And at the beginning and the end and through it all was Sarah. In his arms she would yield to him while still demanding everything. The need to possess her was greater than anything he had ever known. He could ride the light from her eyes the way a bird rides the storm. He held her and for a few sweet seconds savoured the feeling of her body pressed to his. But when he looked at her, the soft grey eyes had turned to brilliant blue and the silver-blonde hair coiled around his neck, tightening like a rope. He gasped for air, struggling out of the oblivion of nightmare to the relative peace of wakefulness. A veiled form hovered close to his face. He caught his breath sharply. A small hand clamped down over his mouth.

'Shh! Do not cry out!'

I had no intention of crying out, he thought irritably. Jareth sat up straighter and gazed levelly at the shrouded figure. She had lit the small oil lamp by the bed and in the meagre light he could only just make out the glitter of dark eyes watching him from beneath her veil. Her fingers trailed across his mouth; when she was satisfied that he would remain silent she threw the veil back from her face. She looked very young: pale olive skin, rounded cheeks and large, almond-shaped eyes. The eyes themselves were outlined with black and her mouth was carefully painted. The artifice surprised him - it sat uneasily with the diaphanous white habit she wore.

'Here, take this.' She thrust a small phial into his hands. 'It will clear your head.'

He sniffed it suspiciously; he did not recognise the smell but none of his instincts warned him against drinking it. It burned like fire but the fug that had filled his head evaporated. 'Thank you, I suppose,' he wheezed and handed the phial back to her. It vanished into the depths of her garments. 'Now, what have I done to deserve this late night consultation? Or do you treat all of you patients-'

'Do not speak so loud!' she chided him in a whisper that was more penetrating than his normal tones had been. 'I should not be here - no-one must know that I have to come to you like this.'

He watched her carefully; she was certainly agitated: her lustrous eyes kept darting towards the doorway. 'I see,' he said softly. 'So far I have spoken only with your superior; I take it that it is she you are disobeying.'

'The Lady Mírthíêl is not the head of our Order,' the girl corrected. 'She is the mistress of these lands. The waters here have great healing properties. We lease part of the palace from her.

'Lease,' he repeated incredulously. Such pragmatism was not what he had imagined in the Amaranthine Realms. He felt a little disappointed.

'Something is very wrong here. Lady Mírthíêl always visits those we bring - she sees all of them. But she does not interfere with our work, not usually, not until you came. I have never seen her minister to anyone before, but she has insisted on bringing your food and drink herself and ... and...' Her hands plucked at the bedclothes that covered him; very gently - but very firmly - he prised them from her grasp.

'And?'

'And you should not still be here. Your injuries were severe, but you have not healed as quickly as you should. I think that she has been deliberately keeping you weak so that you cannot leave; but I know why: she would keep you here because she wants you for herself.'

Wonderful, he thought wearily.

'I do not blame her because you are very beautiful.' She leaned forward, looking at him hopefully. Jareth leaned back and closed his eyes with a groan. He could well imagine the numerous scathing comments that Sarah would make about this particular development. She would no doubt find it highly amusing.

'Who is Sarah?'

His eyes snapped open. 'How do you know that name?'

The girl shrank back. 'You kept saying it,' she replied with a sniff. Whether it was of disapproval of disappointment he could not say. 'Over and over. Sarah.' She pronounced the name with an odd accent, in the manner of one unused to the cadences of mortal names. 'Is she your woman?'

Jareth shifted. 'You could put it like that.'

Her eyes fell.

He decided that a different strategy was called for. 'What is your name, young one?'

'Tiéra,' she replied, her cheeks flushing. 'And I'm not that young! I am already two-hundred-and-eight!'

He managed to suppress a smile. 'Ah,' he replied gravely. 'Forgive my mistake. Well, Tiéra, you are a very courageous g- woman. But I must ask that you be courageous for a little while longer. Will you help me leave this place and return to my own lands?' She stared at him blankly; he repeated the question.

'You cannot return. Once you are brought here, no-one can go back. It is not possible.'

Jareth smiled. 'Tiéra, all things are possible...' He flourished his hand.

She watched him curiously. 'What are you trying to do?'

The Goblin King stared at his empty hand. 'My crystals...'

'I have heard speak of those! But you cannot call them - your magic won't work here.'

He had never really felt the cold before... Jareth closed his eyes and almost welcomed the numbness that Tiéra's confirmation of what he had already known brought. Desperation was not a natural state for him but now, stripped of his magic and without the power to command or to rule, Jareth felt desperate.

But submission was not natural him, either. There was only one being before whom he had ever humbled himself, only one with the power to bring him to his knees. And he would submit to none but her.

'Tiéra, you said that I should not still be here - that I should have left. If I cannot leave, then where was I supposed to be going?'

She retreated now, her draperies fluttering like the wings of a bird as she pulled away. 'I said that you could not return...'

'Yes, I understood that part. Now answer my question.'

Tiéra licked her lips, her body was tensed as though she would flee at any second. 'There are the Gateways...'

'Where? Show me.'

'No, I cannot-'

He grasped hold of her wrist, pulling her closer to him and forcing her to look into his eyes. It was an old trick and one he knew well - exactly how to lower his voice to the most caressing pitch, how to hold her gaze so that she would not be able to refuse him. An unfair advantage, perhaps, but Jareth was in no mood to concern himself with debates on the ethics of what he was doing. 'You have offered me your aid, Tiéra - would you withdraw that help now?'

'No, Your Majesty,' she said quietly.

He relaxed his hold, his fingers now lightly encircling her slender wrist; he could feel the wild throb pulsating beneath the delicate skin. 'I am not much of a king here, Tiéra. Jareth will do just as well.' A moment of trust; a faint blush of rose warmed the pallor of her face. 'Will you you show me? Now?'

She nodded.

He politely refused her eager offer to help him dress; she finally consented to turn her back as he pulled on his clothes.

* * *

Emrys had told her that the way through the passages and caverns would be long (which was true), though not entirely unpleasant (which was not). Admittedly, he had kept his promise that they would not encounter any more skulls - unless you counted the skeletons of long-deceased rats. Sarah tried to block out the occasional crunch underfoot but still felt sick every time she heard it. The catacombs had been built out of a pre-existing network of caves and Emrys led her down into natural passages of untamed rock. The first tunnel they had entered had been high enough to walk upright, but as they progressed along it became narrower and tighter so that they bent further and further over until Sarah felt that her back would snap in two, before they were eventually forced to crawl on all fours. Even then, Sarah kept bumping her head against the ceiling. They did not have to depend on Emrys' flames to light their way: before they started he had spent some moments with his face pressed close to the rock, whispering to the unyielding surface. He had called the light from within and the crystalline luminescence had risen, glowing around them in shades from azure to deepest emerald, from lilac to amethyst.

Sarah had ample opportunity to study it: she was almost flat against the rocky floor, alternately pushing herself with her toes and dragging with her hands, unable to raise her head for fear of cracking it painfully. The surface was fairly smooth and almost translucent; it was neither slimy, nor particularly damp, but it was clammy - it left a residue on her clothes and hands. The passageway dropped down suddenly at an alarming angle and Sarah slithered down the incline headfirst, clawing desperately at the smooth rocks to no avail. She crashed into Emrys' solid bulk and lay still, stiff and light-headed. It had become much hotter and even though the grotto that they now occupied was considerably larger than the tunnels, it was still airless. Sarah gasped, her mouth wide in an effort to drag enough air into her lungs; she could hear the rhythmic roar of blood in her ears and the hollow, erratic pounding in her chest. Emrys crouched over her. 'Sarah, we have to move on.'

'I know... I know, just ... just give me ... a minute.'

She could feel his hands pulling at her, a firm pressure at her waist and didn't care what he was trying to do. 'Here.' He held the flask to her lips and she swallowed the water; it was almost as warm at the air, but she welcomed it. 'I'm okay now; I'm sorry.' She took the canteen from him and replaced it on her belt. 'For the record: I really, really hate this.' She tilted her head back and breathed deeply, the mild panic subsiding as she took in what little air there was. 'Okay, where to now?'

There was a narrow, horizontal opening halfway up the side of the grotto. Emrys grasped her around the waist and swung her up so she entered feet first. For a moment she clung onto the edge by her fingertips, her cheek pressed against the warm, clammy rock. She let herself go and slid part of the way down an incline; Sarah took a deep breath and wriggled the rest of the way down backwards, her eyes focused on the narrow slit of faintly glowing light that was rapidly receding. It seemed much further away than it really was, but the darkness she had entered was complete. It was more like a living entity than a mere absence of light: something that had been starved for too long and now fed on what little illumination there was. It pressed down on her, swamping her senses, and she could feel the old childhood fear of the dark awaken once again. She had come to the bottom of the incline and her feet were dangling in empty space; she kicked out helplessly, trying to find something that would offer her a toehold. A wall dropped away immediately below her narrow opening and she inched her way down, tearing her nails as she tried to keep herself from falling into... An abyss? An underground lake of bottomless dimensions? She scrambled hopelessly against the wall and then her feet suddenly hit the ground, her legs jarring with the unexpected impact. Despite the heat and the sweat prickling her skin she was shivering. There was a scuffling sound from above and she moved aside just in time as Emrys tumbled cheerfully to the ground. She heard him haul himself to his feet and then his hands rubbing together briskly.

'Now then, as the Master of Life allegedly said: let there be light.' It erupted in his hands: not a few dancing flames, but a great ball of light that penetrated the stultifying shadows. The stone was drier, more porous and blackened as though it had once been scorched. From the ceiling and the floor the jagged growths formed the broken teeth of the dark mouth they stood in. Water was trickling nearby but the sound, magnified, bounced around the cavern walls until it was impossible to tell from which direction it came.

Emrys held out a hand to her; she barely hesitated before taking it and so, hand-in-hand, they made their way deeper into the caverns.

* * *

The palace was far larger than Jareth had realised. They passed through corridors of cool white marble, slender pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling; openings, their arches carved like trees and taller than a man, allowed in the moonlight. Its reflection glittered on the surrounding sea - shards of light scattered over dark waters. He took note of the corners they turned, always with the rows of windows on their left hand side, and realised that this was an island fortress. Between the palace walls and the glittering water there was a dark expanse of vegetation; he caught the scent of jasmine and frangipani.

Tiéra glided next to him, her bare feet noiseless on the flagged floor; she had pulled her veil over her face and Jareth could not shake the impression that he was being escorted by a friendly but wholly insubstantial spirit. Her sight and hearing were apparently unimpeded by her draperies: she grabbed his arm, dragging him into a side-passage and retreating into the deeper shadows. Two white-clad figures walked briskly past the mouth of the corridor. It was a few minutes before he heard a rush of air as Tiéra let out the breath she was holding; she was close enough that he could feel her quivering. He lowered his head to where he surmised her ear to be. 'If you are too afraid to go on...'

She turned sharply. 'I am not afraid! I just don't want to get caught, that's all.'

They moved faster now, through a long gallery of mirrors and stained glass and out onto a pathway that led along the cliffs. The breeze was warm and balmy and he longed for nothing more than to surrender himself to its currents and simply fly away.

The path they followed was clear of leaves and dirt; it took them to a set of stone steps that had been worn down by centuries of use.

Below lay a small, semicircular amphitheatre. One side ran to the edge of the cliffs and even at that distance they could hear the surf crashing far below. The curved wall had been cut directly into the rock and set into that wall were two doors of beaten bronze with surrounding stone pylons. The heavy lintels were intricately carved and partially obscured by the ivy that was determinedly creeping its way across the wall. In between the two doors was a mirror: its frame of dark wood was almost black with age and plain, save for a carved cluster of berries inlaid with silver in one corner. It was the same wood as the table that stood in the centre of the platform, four chairs arranged around it as though waiting to be laid for a formal dinner. Jareth pushed past Tiéra and walked down the rest of the way. He was drawn to the mirror: his reflection was hazy, not because its surface was dirty or warped, as he had first thought, but because of the fine mist that lay behind the glass itself. Jareth touched the surface experimentally; it was cool and hard and impenetrable. Now, close-up, he could see his own face. There was a difference there that he could not name. Yes, he was paler and thinner - but he had expected that. The hollows around his eyes were almost black and his face was lined with stress, but it was not that. It was in the eyes themselves; they were hard, frozen. Jareth turned away.

'Where do these doors lead?'

Tiéra pushed back her veil, tendrils of dark hair escaping their combs and framing her delicate face. 'My sisters say that one leads to the eternal light, the other to eternal dark; but I do not know which is which - and even if I did, only Lady Mírthíêl can open the gateways. She keeps the key with her at all times.'

He ran his fingers over one of the locks. It was set into the door, a depression shaped like a six-pointed star. His fingers probed the metal, but without the key the mechanism was immovable. Jareth rested his head against the bronze; it supported him with supreme indifference. It had been a fool's hope; that thought suddenly seemed extremely funny and he choked back bitter laughter. Dull pounding started in the base of his skull and his whole body sagged under the weight of it

Tiéra let out a low hiss. 'I knew we should not have come. You are not strong.'

'For future reference, Tiéra,' he said vaguely as her small hands plucked at him, 'never say that to a man - especially one whom you are trying to impress.' He shrugged off her attempts to put her arm around his waist; it was beneath his dignity to accept such help, particularly from a girl whose head barely reached above his shoulder. But as his vision swam and his feet started to drag he condescended to lean on her, more heavily than he would have liked. She was stronger then she looked.

His eyes were barely open by the time Tiéra deposited him back on his bed and she had to bend closely over him to catch his soft murmurings. She removed his extraneous items of clothing and pulled the covers back over him before straightening her veils haughtily. 'My name,' she informed the recumbent figure, 'is not Sarah.'

* * *

It was becoming increasingly hot. Not just hot, humid. Every now and then great jets of steam would escape from a fissure with a roaring hiss. The ground was littered with hard-baked stones that crumbled as they trod on them. Emrys' hand, damp and slippery, was still clamped to hers. The darkness was so complete that whenever Sarah looked anywhere that was not brightened by Emrys' fire she saw dancing patterns of colour. So when she saw a crimson glow ahead of them, roughly on level with their feet, she thought it was simply her own dazed eyes; but this glow did not dance, it was steady and grew stronger as they approached.

'What is that?'

'Nothing for you to worry about.' There was a note in his tone that she did not trust.

'What's down-'

It was like the low rumble of thunder, starting deep and slowly working its way up. The ground shook and Sarah felt bits of stone and grit fall from the ceiling into her hair and eyes. Emrys' hand slipped from her grasp and she saw his figure, silhouetted in his will-o'-the-wisp of a light, standing on the edge of a chasm and staring down at whatever was below. 'Shh. Sleep,' he chided softly.

'Who are you talking to?'

He cocked his head at her. 'Do you want to see them?'

A half smile played about his lips - and Sarah had never been one to turn down a challenge. She edged towards him, her feet scuffling against the stony ground, her eyes fixed on his and then looked down into the chasm. The chamber far below was lined with a curious assortment of straw and twigs and rags that formed a large, rough nest; the alcoves held smouldering fires that cast a deep crimson light over everything, tingeing it the colour of blood. In their nest the dragons lay sleeping, their scales glistening like fish caught in the morning sun. One was of deep red, its head hidden beneath a leathery, purple-veined wing. Its mate had the lustre of a pearl, the creamy scales gleaming with pale steaks of pink and eau-de-nil. Two delicate horns curved between its ears and as it slept trails of smoke dribbled from its flared nostrils. They were coiled together - sleek bodies rising and falling in their winter den. Emrys pulled at her arm and led her away. He did not need to tell her to move quietly. Sarah eased past, her eyes fixed on the red glow just beyond her feet, imagining one of those reptilian eyes opening...

She had not thought it possible to welcome the dank blackness of the subterranean paths, but at the moment darkness seemed to hold more promise of continuing life than light and fire. Emrys was a little way ahead of her now and she hurried to catch him up; his guiding light suddenly vanished, only a faint afterglow remaining to tell her of the passageway he had entered. Her feet slipped on the uneven ground and she suppressed the incipient panic that had been there, just below the surface, ever since they had entered the caves. She hated the dark. She hated being without light and air and the endless sky above her. Sarah had liked to think that she had stopped taking things for granted a long time ago, but it seemed that someone or something was determined that she learn the lessons all over again.

She passed through the opening and found Emrys waiting for her; he was flanked by pillars, as clear and delicate as spun glass, as solid as granite.

'They are crystal formed from dragon's breath.'

Sarah nodded. He was older: the mane of grizzled hair swept back from his forehead and his close-fitting black robe buttoned down the front with the severity of a cassock. The lines in his face were deep and stern but his eyes still danced with fire; he seemed like a prophet of ages, elemental and unchangeable despite the passage of years. She followed him between the pillars, passing through another narrow opening that gave onto a larger space.

Flames captured in the raw crystal walls provided a soft light and even though this lighting was dim and the chamber was still steeped in shadow, Sarah's eyes were dazzled. It took a little time to make out what she was looking at: all around them long forms lay motionless on the ground, arranged in a rough circle. It was the sound that hinted at what they were: softly rising and falling, all at different rhythms, occasionally punctuated by a snore, but all with the heavy slowness of deep sleep. Not all the men were lying flat: some were propped against the walls, their heads nodding over their chests. They were dressed for battle, but Sarah guessed that the battle had already occurred - many of the helmets placed at their sides were dented and even the fine links of chain mail were dulled by mud, tabards were ripped and bloodied. Despite their deep slumbers, their faces were worn with exhaustion. Of all of them only one was laid upon a dais. His hands were folded across his breast in a pose she had seen on the tombs of dead knights and kings in her own world; but where there would usually be a sword clasped between the white marble hands, this man had none. The richly jewelled scabbard at his side was empty. His hair was dark and streaked with grey and unlike most of his companions he wore no beard; he was not handsome, but his features were strong and in their lines she could see wisdom and kindness - and even humour.

It was ridiculous, Sarah thought, that her throat should constrict and her eyes sting, but she could not help it. 'It's him, isn't it? I-it really is him?'

Emrys' dark eyes were fixed on the sleeping figure. 'Yes, that is him. I remember when he was little more than a child, stick-thin and half-feral, tilting at trees in the forest with a bit of a stick and no greater dream than to be a squire. But even then he could stop a man twice his size with a single look. One word and he could bring them to their knees.' He stepped forward, holding the light closer to the king's face. 'Sleep well, old friend. One day we shall discuss dreams again, you and I.' He turned abruptly and even though the sleeping figure he left behind did not move, Sarah thought she saw a faint smile touch the corners of the sleeper's mouth. She followed Emrys reluctantly, her eyes repeatedly drawn back to the figure of the king; she glanced at the wall behind him and saw deep in the crystalline rock two dim figures, one either side of the bier. Two women: one dark-haired holding a naked blade, the other auburn with her great eyes fixed on the sleeping form at her feet. Sarah passed into the corridor beyond and leaned against the rough wall, breathing deeply.

'I never really thought that... I mean, even thought I know you, it hadn't occurred to me that to me that he was real. That's kinda stupid, isn't it?'

'Yes, it is a bit.' He returned her indignant gaze with an unrepentant smile; jetty curls fell across his unlined brow. 'Well, you are the one who said it.'

'Talk about killing the mood,' she muttered.

Their path sloped downwards, following a steep curve; yet, despite their unending descent, it was becoming easier to see. The wall to their right was frequently punctuated by great clefts that allowed in shafts of crimson light - they were skirting the outside of the dragons' lair. Sarah hugged the wall opposite, trying to keep as much distance as possible between herself and the sleeping monsters behind the dense stone. Emrys put on a great show of unconcern, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. It left her with a feeling of even deeper unease, one that she tried to hide even though he could not see her face

The muffled blast came from high above, rumbling down the passages like distant thunder and setting the loose stones on the ground dancing. They both gazed upwards; Sarah felt her chest shaking. 'What was that?'

'They are rebuilding the castle again - damn it, I told him not to do it!'

'Who?'

'Vortigern. His castle is directly above us. It has already collapsed twice before and I warned him that if he attempted to build it again the dragons would simply destroy the foundations.'

'The dragons...'

Another tremor shook everything around them; the echoes reverberating through the caverns hurt her ears; a fine rain of gravel and sharp stones bounced around them. They both staggered, the young sorcerer's fire extinguishing as he tried to steady both himself and Sarah. Emrys sheltered her against him and when the quake stopped she still clung to him, taut muscle hard under her hands.

The sharp sound of stone falling on stone died away leaving only silence. Sarah let out a long breath, her body limp with relief. They met one another's eyes and shared a smile the way only people who have faced great danger together can.

And then came the low, growling roar and the crimson light bathing them flickered ominously. The sound of rock fall came not from above, but from the chamber next to them; Sarah could not see what was happening, but guessed at what the sounds meant - sharp claws scraping against hard earth and great wings beating the air. But the sound she was most aware of was both of their ragged, rasping breathing. Emrys was staring at the rock face opposite them and she followed his gaze. The crevice allowed through a steady beam of light. And then it darkened. Something gold with a sliver of black running down it appeared in that opening and it took her some moments to identify an eye. The black slit focused on them and narrowed.

'Sarah.'

'Yes?'

'Run.'

He pulled her with him, an iron grip on her wrist that bruised the bone but she did not try to free herself from it. Rock shattered behind them, a heavy tail - glistening pearly scales covering lean muscle - crashed into the passage.

Emrys came to a stop, swinging her around so that she stood on the slope below him. 'Go. Continue straight down the path; you will come to a bridge; once you have crossed it you will be safe.'

'What about you?'

'They will not harm me, but you must go. Hurry!'

She grabbed hold of his hand. 'I can't just leave you here.'

'Do you never tire of arguing? I did not wish to part this way, but this is how it must be. Unless, of course, you desire that both of us be reduced to bits of charcoal.'

'But what if I don't see you again?'

His laughter was heartfelt. 'Of course you will see me - we have yet to meet, remember?'

She managed to smile and then ducked her head. Emrys pulled her towards him and they embraced, hastily and clumsily. His lips pressed against her temple briefly and then he pushed her gently down the slope. The last she saw of him was a dark form silhouetted against fire before she turned away and started to run.

The dragons were calling to each other, raucous bass notes that made her scalp prickle and the walls ring. And rising above them was Emrys' commanding voice; she tried to block it out, to ignore what was happening behind her.

She came to the bottom of the slope and found herself on a wide platform that overlooked a great chasm. It was a huge cavern - more a cathedral sculpted by nature and illumined by the fires below that were licking the walls higher and higher. There was another ledge opposite her and Sarah looked for the bridge.

'You have got to be kidding.'

What was left of it was a rocky protuberance that jutted out almost halfway across the great chasm. She stared at it, paralysed in thought and movement. It was a great bellow from further up the passage behind her that jolted her back. Something was coming. Large and lumbering, crashing through rock. A jet of flame blasted toward her, leaving acrid smoke in its wake. She couldn't go back. Sarah inched toward the edge and looked across. The gorge was not that wide, and the sorry bit of rock masquerading as a bridge did reach halfway... She might just make it. Sarah backed up, raced across rock that shifted and crumbled under her feet and then took a flying leap, not giving herself time to think about what she was doing. Her eyes screwed shut, she sailed through darkness and then landed, her legs jarring painfully, and lay still.

The breath was all but knocked out of her, but she almost laughed from sheer disbelief that she was still alive and on firm ground. Her body was twisted awkwardly and she rolled onto her front, pushing herself up with her hands. A sharp pain made her gasp: it was as though a vice had grabbed both ankles and she realised her feet were both wedged into a crevice. Sarah started to pull herself free, but the more she pulled away the more tightly she was jammed. Not just jammed. She was being dragged down by grinding rocks that held her as efficiently as thousands of hard hands could. The fissure split along the ground and Sarah clawed at the earth helplessly; she would have cried out but the rock was closing around her waist, squeezing her until there was no air. She could feel her ribs creaking under the pressure and the blood pounded in her ears. Horror gave her strength for one last desperate effort to free herself, but the merciless earth increased its hold on her.

_'If you keep struggling you'll only make it worse.'_

She gave up her fight and as if in response the agonising crush lessened. But she still was pulled down. Sarah tilted her head back, gulping what air she could; she saw fire and shadow dance across the cavern walls before the ground closed over her.


	10. Strangers Sad and Nervous

How long that one breath lasted, Sarah did not know. The time could have been marked in seconds or in millennia. She could not move. She could not see. She was held fast in complete darkness and either death or insanity seemed to be the only possible outcomes.

And then there was a chink of light.

Whatever it was holding her convulsed, gripping her ever tighter, but at the same time pushing her upwards. Sarah wriggled against the pressure and finally succeeded in working her arms free. She reached towards the opening, her fingers closing over rough, crumbling earth. It was so close; she could smell fresh air, she could feel it.

One hand broke through into the free space beyond her prison and the violent convulsions around her stopped. She pulled herself forward and then, with both hands now through the opening, she groped blindly for something to hold onto. Her wandering fingers found it - a hard, rough something that was solid enough for her to grasp and pull herself out with. She could swear that she could feel grass brushing against her knuckles. Sarah gritted her teeth and felt all the muscles across her shoulders and down her back creaking with the effort. Bit by bit she was moving forward. Her own predicament reminded her irresistibly of Winnie-the-Pooh, overstuffed on honey and stuck halfway out of a rabbit hole. She would have laughed, had she been able. With one final effort she pulled herself clear, crawling forward a little way and then collapsing on the grass. It was a tree root she had been hanging on to; as Sarah looked back over one shoulder she saw it move across the hole she had just crawled out of, gouging a track in the earth before settling back into place with a satisfied creaking. The tree itself was monumental in proportions, it bark rough and scored and tinged green with moss.

She stood up and sat back down again almost immediately, her legs buckling under her, and tried very hard not to be sick. Her hands were pressed hard against her mouth and she took several deep breaths until the nausea passed. Sarah unhooked her canteen, took a few sips of water and then splashed a little onto her face. She hesitated for a moment and then opened her other flask. The brandy burnt the back of her throat, making her eyes water. But she could feel its warmth spreading through her; she smiled a little, wondering how many arguments Delaine and Rajad had had by now.

The trees around her were tall and dark leafed; their canopies were so dense that only thin shafts of hazy light were able to penetrate down to the forest floor. It was dank in there; bits of ragged mist wound between the dark trunks. There were neither pathways nor tracks, nothing to tell her which was the best way to go. There was only the uncomfortable, prickling sensation between her shoulder blades, as though she were being watched. Sarah turned, but there was nothing behind her; at least, nothing that she could see. There was nothing for it but to pick a direction, which she duly did, skirting the tree that had been both her prison and her deliverance.

The cottage, when she found it, was so broken down that she would have thought it abandoned, save for the thin plume of smoke curling from the chimney. It was pungent, the bitter smell of damp wood burning. The cottage walls were bulging and lopsided, as though no longer able to support the weight of the roof. The tiny windows were frosted - whether by design or the build up of grime it was impossible to say. The door was ajar and Sarah pushed it open, wincing as the rusted hinges screamed in protest.

'Hello?'

The air was sharp with smoke and it caught in the back of her throat; she coughed, her eyes smarting. The walls were spongy, crumbling, covered in mildew and looked as though one touch would reduce them to rubble.

'Hel-' The word ended in a soft exhalation.

What she had thought was a pile of rags by the fireside had raised itself up and lumbered towards her. The old woman's eyes were milky white, rolling sightlessly toward Sarah. Her skin was the sickly colour of parchment, stretched taut; the few wisps of grey hair that still clung to her skull hung about her face.

'Where are you, girl? Let me feel you.' The searching hands were scarred and bloodied, as though she had been chewing on her own fingers.

Sarah backed away, stumbling over a low stool behind her. The old woman moved faster than Sarah could have imagined; she was seized in a hard grip. Withered lips were drawn back in a manic, delighted grin to reveal brown teeth worn down to sharp stumps.

'There is flesh on your bones. Not much, but enough.'

Sarah's eyes had adjusted to the gloom enough to make out the details in the room - especially the iron bars forming a cage in one corner.

'You wouldn't deny an old woman a meal, now would you, my dear? Pretty girl... Nice, well fed girl...'

Sarah wrenched herself free and pushed the old woman as hard as she could; the crone sprawled to the floor, letting out a shriek that pierced Sarah to the core. Hard hands grabbed at her ankles but she skipped aside, leaping over the writhing form to reach the open. She paused only to slam the heavy door behind her, muffling the screeches from within, and then ran blindly into the forest.

* * *

Of the three pubs in the Underground, The Dog and Rat was undoubtedly the most downmarket. Hoggle had a suspicion that it had been named after the two creatures that made up the contents of most meals served there, but he kept such thoughts to himself: even though the landlord, Güs, had only one leg, he was at least three times bigger than Hoggle. The pub stood on the edge of the junkyard and its punters looked as though they had just crawled out of it - a shiftier looking bunch Hoggle was yet to see, but at least they minded their own business (mostly because they didn't want anyone else interfering in theirs) and drank their ale, which was surprisingly good. The Three Satyrs, the largest and busiest, was in the middle of the city, while The Crown and Crystal was closest to the barracks and was the preferred haunt of the officers and ambitious squaddies. It was the only pub Sir Didymus would set paw in, so it came as something of a surprise to Hoggle when the door of The Dog and Rat opened and the little knight trotted in. He was accompanied by Bedivere, a huge cream-coloured wolfhound that had been a gift from Ambrosius. Bedivere shook himself vigourously, sending out a fine spray that landed on everyone except, remarkably, Sir Didymus. His sleet-drenched hooded cloak was safely deposited on a peg and, with his bright purple cap pulled over one eye, Sir Didymus crossed the room.

'Well met, friend Hoggle! May I beg a seat at thy table?'

Hoggle rolled his eyes. 'Will you just sit down?' He was uncomfortably aware that they were being scrutinised by every wary eye in the place. Sir Didymus was apparently oblivious but Hoggle had the feeling that the knight was enjoying himself - and Hoggle's discomfort - immensely. He made a great show of dusting off the bench with his handkerchief before settling himself. Bedivere collapsed on the floor beside them in a damp, panting heap; even curled up he was almost as big as the table. They were ensconced in a booth; the broad wooden seats were as hard as stone.

Sir Didymus examined the general surroundings. 'Quite cosy, is it not?' he said brightly.

Hoggle choked on his pint. Any pub that had sawdust sprinkled on the floor could not be called cosy. The fireplace was large but the fire within it was paltry and looked as though it grudged every second of its half-hearted existence; the beams and panelling were of wood so aged it was almost black. The only concession to gentility was the chalkboard over the bar that listed the daily specials. There was only ever one special and as long as anyone could remember the board had carried the legend "Chikkin".

The rhythmic thud of wood on wood warned the Dwarf that Güs was on his way over and wondered if it was feasible to think that he might be able to hide behind his pint. The table shuddered as two large hands landed on it; Güs peered down at them. The tea-towel over one shoulder seemed an incongruous touch.

'Ah, the landlord of this establishment, I take it.'

Güs breathed heavily.

'If I may trouble you for one of your specials as noted on yonder board, a large bowl of water, and I believe I will take a pint of your finest ale - and one for my noble companion.'

The barkeeper let out a low rumbling noise, eyeing the newcomer with grave suspicion; the fox met the gaze, his bright eye unwavering. Güs stumped back to the bar.

Hoggle shook his head. 'One of these days someone's goin' to separate your bushy tail from the rest o' you and mount it as a trophy.'

Sir Didymus' whiskers quivered. 'They would have to catch me first.'

Hoggle sipped on his pint speculatively. To the uninitiated, Sir Didymus would seem to be merely an overly enthusiastic and rather woolly headed knight-errant. But Hoggle knew him. His nature was intrinsically cunning and behind his flowery speech his mind was as keen as his eye. The fox never did anything without a reason - which would include bringing himself all the way across town to the Dog. He wanted something. Information, no doubt - it was the only thing Hoggle had to give these days; although, what he could tell Sir Didymus that the knight didn't know already was beyond him. But he was prepared to bide his time, and if it was information that Didymus was after, he would have to trade for it.

'Any news?'

'I take it thou art referring to the Lady Sarah?'

Hoggle nodded.

Sir Didymus folded his paws across his velvet jerkin. 'Ambrosius informs us that my lady has crossed the first of her ... obstacles.'

'Hm. And how does he know that?'

A slight movement of the shoulders that was almost a shrug. Hoggle took another sip of his pint. 'And how is life at the castle these days?'

There was a rumble of thunder that shook the pub until the brittle glass rattled in the window frames. The collection of bottles on the shelves behind the bar clanked together and Bedivere whimpered, shuffling closer to his master. The hackles on the back of Sir Didymus' neck stood on end and his upper lip curled back in a snarl, baring his teeth.

The thunder passed and there was a long silence before the assembled drinkers began muttering between themselves.

'Unseasonable,' Sir Didymus commented.

'Mm.' He knew that beady eye was fixed on him, but he refused to meet it.

'All at the castle is as well as can be expected,' Sir Didymus continued smoothly some moments later. 'Lord Toby's lessons are progressing well.'

Poor kid, Hoggle thought. When he wasn't being lectured by Ambrosius or drilled in martial training by Sir Didymus, Rajad was overseeing his falling off a horse at least five times an hour. Then he would fall into bed only to be roused at an unearthly hour so that he could do it all over again. It was a concerted effort by all concerned to keep the boy occupied and not give him any time to brood. Hoggle knew nothing about raising a child, but he was not altogether convinced that not giving Toby time to cry and sulk and generally behave like a child was actually the best idea.

Sir Didymus' food arrived; the kitchen must have been under special orders, Hoggle thought - the meal actually looked edible for once. Bedivere lapped up his water noisily and then laid his large head on his master's knee, gazing soulfully up at him and accepting chunks of meat with an appreciative thump of his tail. The unfamiliar sound made some of the more nervous customers wince.

Their inconsequential chatter was punctuated by long periods of silence. Only when his plate of crunched chicken bones was cleared and he had scrupulously wiped his whiskers did Sir Didymus lean forward, both elbows on the table. 'Something has shifted in the Labyrinth.'

Hoggle snorted. 'Nothin' new in that. Somethin's always shiftin' in the Labyrinth - that's what it does.'

'Something in the energy,' Didymus persisted. 'The very rock is moving - I do not mean the stone of the walls, but the bedrock. You have lived here longer than I...'

Hoggle gripped his glass between both hands, staring at the dark foamy liquid. He had once been a counsellor, had been privy to so many secrets... He had worked hard to forget all of that: it was easier to concentrate on tending the gardens, but the relaxing properties of alcohol brought long buried memories to the fore and loosened his tongue. Which was exactly what Sir Didymus had been counting on, damn him; he had been very generous tonight...

'It will get worse, unless the crown is claimed,' he said slowly.

'The crown is claimed - the Underground has a king.'

Hoggle shook his head and drained his glass. 'No, it doesn't. Jareth is gone and Delaine is not the queen - she cannot control the Labyrinth. She'll have to take the crown.'

'Her Royal Highness,' Sir Didymus said pointedly, 'will not do that. Never.'

'She may not have a choice.'

'Explain your meaning, Master Hoggle.' Sir Didymus watched him intently.

He was not the only one: every Goblin in the place was leaning forward slightly. Even Güs had paused in mid-polish of the bar's surface. Hoggle glared at them and they immediately dropped their eyes back to their pints with badly feigned innocence. Hoggle lowered his voice.

'The Labyrinth and its ruler are bound to each other - an' right now there is no ruler.' He rubbed bleary eyes. 'All that energy that keeps this place together has no direction. It needs someone to control it and as the righ'ful heir, Delaine's the only one who can do it. But only if she becomes queen.'

'But Lady Sarah will return,' Didymus stated, 'with His Majesty.'

'Perhaps. But if Delaine waits much longer, there might not be a kingdom for Jareth to return to.'

* * *

The woodland have given way to something more cultivated. At least, it had been cultivated once. There had been a stone wall in such a bad state of repair that Sarah had soon found a gaping hole that allowed her through. On the other side was what had once, she guessed, been an orchard. It had been overgrown by weeds that almost reached her waist. Everywhere was overgrown by weeds. She passed through the remnants of formal gardens, their borders only barely discernible. Roses that had once climbed elegantly around archways were now hopelessly tangled but the dead brown branches were still possessed of wickedly sharp thorns. There were fountains, dried of water, their basins cracked, their ornamental mermaids and water-nymphs ravaged by bad weather and neglect.

And then there was the maze.

The hedges had become so wild that the pathways they had once defined were now impenetrable thickets. Sarah skirted it; she could hear the occasional chirrup of a bird and the sound lifted her spirits - there was some life, at least, in this place.

She had been walking around the outer boundary of the maze before she saw the castle rising above the trees ahead. Even from this distance it seemed, like everything else, to be in a state of decay - once elegant spires standing in relief against a powder-blue sky. However, as it was the only landmark of note around she continued her path towards it. She ran into yet another wall. This one was relatively well maintained: the mortar held the stones fast; it extended in either direction as far as she could see. The clinging ivy was taking on the russet hue of autumn. She wandered alongside it, raking the surface for any break or entrance; in the end she had to reconcile herself to the fact that there was nothing - she could either keep walking in the hope of finding a way through or she could climb. Sarah grabbed a handful of ivy, found a purchase with her toes and started to pull herself up. By the time she reached the top she had added a few more grazes to her knuckles and all of her nails were hopelessly broken. The ground on the other side of the wall was higher; Sarah cautiously lowered herself and hung for a few seconds, her hands unwilling to release their hold on the top of the wall. It was more the fact that her shoulders felt in danger of coming out of their sockets that made her let go. It was a relatively short drop and a mass of weeds cushioned her landing.

The courtyard was large and held a few broken-down greenhouses; the flagstones were almost wholly covered by rampant greenery and what had once been vegetable patches had been taken over by specimens that looked decidedly inedible. Lavender bushes had run wild and as Sarah brushed against the fat purple heads, their sweet scent was released. It was very still, very quiet, but in the silence she could hear soft singing coming from the direction of the huge door that led into the castle.

The backdoor, Sarah decided; she was standing in what had probably once been the kitchen garden.

It was a woman's voice; her song was not especially tuneful and she seemed to be making it up as she went along.

Sarah moved warily, keeping to the shelter of the greenhouse, until she could get a clear view of the singer.

An area near the door had been cleared of weeds and the small tended patch now boasted uneven lines of crops. Its redeemer was bent over it, slender fingers pulling out any unwelcome intruders from the dark earth. Hers was a slight figure and her dark hair, falling across her face, hid her features. Sarah stepped out, loose stone crunching under her feet. The song ended abruptly and the woman stood.

She looked little more than a child, Sarah thought with some surprise. Her dress was coarse and threadbare and the apron tied around her waist was frayed at the hem. She had never seen anyone so pale - not just the fair skin of someone averse to sun exposure, but a waxen pallor almost like a death mask. In stark contrast her lips were deep red, like a smear of blood across her mouth.

'Hello. What's your name?' Her voice was high and lilting.

'I'm Sarah.'

'Sarah. That's a pretty name. I like it.' Her eyes moved slowly over Sarah, taking in her appearance. 'You're dressed like a boy.'

'Uh...' Sarah looked down at her trousers. 'Well... Not where I come from.'

'Really?' Her eyes widened: they were green, flecked with gold and rather beautiful. 'Did you come through the wood? Did-did you see her?'

There was no need to clarify the identity of the person in question. 'Yes,' Sarah replied grimly.

'Oh. I thought she might have died by now.'

No such luck, Sarah thought; and yet she felt a slight shock at the girl's coldly matter-of-fact words.

'Would you like to come in?' She turned before Sarah could reply, starting towards the doorway; Sarah followed her and it was only then that she noticed the heavy iron cuff around the girl's ankle. It was attached to a length of sleek, well-oiled chain that allowed her a few feet into the open from the doorway, but no further.

'Who did that to you?'

The girl followed Sarah's stare. 'It's only while I'm out of doors - so I won't run away. See?' She stepped over the threshold and the cuff undid itself, falling to the ground with a sickening thud.

'Who did it?'

Standing in the doorway, her pale face was like a spectral vision against the dark interior; she turned silently and walked further inside. Sarah hovered outside uncertainly and then followed her.

It was a large kitchen, and though the furniture and assorted implements were rough, everything was scrupulously clean. There was the aroma of freshly baked bread that gave the place an unexpectedly homely feel. Sarah was directed to a chair by her diminutive hostess. 'What's your name?' The girl blinked. 'I told you mine - don't you want to tell me yours?'

'I had a name... My mother gave me a name, but I don't remember what it was. Ella calls me Bianca, because my skin is so fair. You may call me Bianca.'

'Who is Ella?'

'She lives here. She helps me with some of the household work. She usually sweeps out the fireplaces. We have lots of fireplaces.'

'You do all the work in the castle?'

'No, I just told you - Ella helps me. Silly.'

'How old are you?'

Bianca pondered the question. 'I have sixteen years,' she replied finally. It came as a surprise - Sarah would have guessed she was thirteen at the most. Her figure had barely developed beyond the flat planes of childhood. Hard work and lack of proper food, Sarah thought, remembering with a hot spear of anger the chain around the girl's ankle. 'Bianca, who is it who keeps you here? Who makes you do all this work?'

'He does.'

'Who is he?'

She was very still, her eyes widening in her delicate face. 'Him. The Wolf.'

'A wolf?'

Bianca shook her head. 'No. The Wolf. He keeps all of us here. There used to be another, but she went away. The woodsman took her away and we never saw her again. He tried to make the Wolf go away, but he couldn't. Not forever.' She frowned slightly. 'But you must know. Isn't that why you're here? Didn't he make you come?'

'No-one made me do anything. I came here of my own free will.'

A strange smile played around Bianca's mouth. 'No,' she said softly, 'no-one does that. He will call. He will call you and then you'll see.'

She didn't look like a child then - she looked someone who has seen far more than anyone ever should. There was a silence.

'Who are the others?'

'There are only three of us now. Ella and I and there is Aurora. But she is very boring to live with; all she does is sleep. Would you like to see her?'

'Uh...'

Bianca plucked at Sarah's arm. 'Come on. She won't mind - she doesn't know what's happening anyway.'

Sarah followed Bianca through winding corridors. Wooden doors were slowly being eaten away by woodworm and as shafts of sunlight pierced broken shutters dust motes performed lazy waltzes around each other in the heavy air. Innumerable passageways opened onto innumerable chambers, most of which contained massive pieces of furniture covered by dust sheets. Sarah had a suspicion that colonies of mice had probably made themselves very much at home under them.

They turned into a corridor - wood-panelled and gloomy, the light from the passages behind barely penetrated to the arched door that marked the end of the corridor; she waited while Bianca fished a key out of the pocket in her apron. It turned in the lock with only a little effort. The stairs, deep and narrow, spiralled around a tower; the only light came from the slits in the wall and in the near dark Sarah had to use her hands to guide herself up the staircase. Bianca scrambled nimbly ahead of her and Sarah felt very large and very old.

No-one had gone to the tower room in some time. The landing floor was coated in a layer of dust and cobwebs had to be cleared from around the lock of the door before Bianca was able to open it. She pushed it open and Sarah ducked her head to avoid the low frame. The air was musty and held the smell of dry decay - it was something that would cling to her hair and skin for hours afterwards. Heavy curtains were drawn part way across the windows, but they allowed in enough light for Sarah to make out the figure lying in the huge canopied bed. Her hair appeared grey at first, until Sarah realised it was the dirt and cobwebs mingling with the blonde locks that gave them that ashen look. Her face was sunken and wasted. Twined around her limbs and spreading across the faded damask counterpane were dried brown stems; they were so tangled that the sleeper appeared to be lying in a nest.

'Can't you clear those off her?' Sarah demanded stepping forward; Bianca caught hold of her arm. The nest seethed in a hissing mass and a flat brown head, its small obsidian eyes fixed on her maliciously, reared up. They were snakes surrounding the girl, not the dead roses that Sarah had supposed.

She fell back.

'That's Aurora,' Bianca chirruped helpfully.

'I'd like to back downstairs now.'

She would have run down the stairs, except that such an attempt would have resulted in a broken neck or worse. So she crept down them and tried to ignore the flashes of the breathing cadaver lying in her bed of serpents.

They reached the ground floor and Bianca locked the door.


	11. Dance Through the Fire

He no longer believed that she was lying beside him when he woke. He knew that the sensation of her in his arms was only a dream, an illusion. For now.

It was early morning: the sunlight pale and soft, the air balmy but still carrying the faint chill of night. The Sisters of Lenity were beginning their rounds. Jareth watched the swathed forms and wondered which of them was Tiéra.

They were changing the bed linens and he hovered by the window watching them. The white sheets that they shook out and then gathered up into their arms were indistinguishable from their fluttering draperies. Another of their number entered - smaller, slighter and bearing a tray. Breakfast was being served early and, for once, it was not being served by Mírthíêl. He retreated to the window embrasure and the low table it held, seating himself on the scattered cushions. He stared out of the window, ignoring the white figure that dutifully followed.

'Where is the key, Tiéra?'

She started slightly. Even through the muffling veils he knew she was glaring at him and returned her a sardonic smile. She emptied the tray of its platters. 'I told you,' she murmured, 'she keeps it with her at all times.'

He still watched the white crested waves, barely moving his lips as he spoke. 'Where with her?'

A heavy sigh. 'On a chain around her neck.'

'I see... Well, I will have to make certain that I get close enough to her.'

Tiéra's dishes clattered loudly together. Two of the Sisters turned their veiled heads towards the embrasure. 'You would be wise to take care,' her voice came, only just audible, when they were no longer the focus of attention. 'This is not a game.'

The grim smile did not suit his features. 'Oh, but it is, Tiéra. It's just one where the stakes are very high.'

* * *

The third of the castle's occupants was in the ballroom, following intricate steps in time to the music that no-one heard except her. When she noticed Bianca standing in the doorway she swooped down on her, embracing her fiercely and raining kisses on her cheeks.

'Is he here? Has he come?' Her voice was a husky contralto; her honey blonde hair straggled around her face, locks falling from their jewelled clips.

Bianca sighed. 'No, Ella, he has not come. He is not going to come.'

She recoiled, her lower lip trembling. 'You don't know that. He may do - and I must be ready.' Thin hands clutched at the ragged silk dress - her finery had long since frayed and ripped and was covered in sooty black streaks. But it was her feet that Sarah stared at. They were small and the arches were high and the delicate shoes of glass must have shown them off perfectly, once. But the shoes had splintered and with every step she took the jagged shards tore into her skin so that those small, achingly perfect feet were covered in scars and scabs and open wounds.

Her eyes were an unusual shade of blue, beautiful, the colour of the sky over the Labyrinth on a late summer's evening - beautiful and utterly emptied of all reason. Ella tried to push her hair back into its pins. 'I must look pretty for him,' she murmured. 'Will you help me, Bianca?'

'Yes, but not now. Later. Say hello to Sarah.'

The empty blue eyes moved from Bianca to Sarah and then wandered over her without really seeing her. 'Have you come to dance?'

'Have I what?'

'Dance.' A frown appeared on Ella's smooth brow. 'Don't you like to dance?' There was a note in her voice that made Sarah's skin prickle. 'I thought everybody likes to dance. If you don't, why did you come here?'

'I do,' Sarah said quickly. 'I like dancing. I'm just not very good at it.'

Ella took a step back, her eyes narrowing. She scrutinised the newcomer with an unexpected intensity; and despite the fact that Ella's dress was shabby and torn and her necklace and earrings had been stripped of their jewels, leaving only empty settings behind, Sarah was painfully aware of her scuffed boots, her dirty breeches and her unkempt hair. She drew herself up and met the enquiring gaze unwaveringly.

'I will teach you,' Ella pronounced and grabbed hold of her hands. The broken heels of her shoes scraped against the floor, leaving trails of glittering splinters ground down to a fine powder.

Sarah allowed herself to be drawn forward, stumbling as Ella directed her through the steps. She remembered Michael's controlling but respectful touch; and she remembered Jareth's hypnotic gaze, how he had guided her with only the lightest of touches. She felt her chest starting to shake and gritted her teeth.

The ballroom was an ode to ruined magnificence. The floor was littered with flaking plaster fallen from the ceiling. That vaulted construction had once been decorated with the images of a Baroque idyll: dainty shepherdesses tended flocks of impossibly fluffy sheep; nymphs reclined languidly; and ladies in voluminous silks fluttered their fans at handsome lovers. At least, that was what one could surmise from what was left of the glowing colours and broken faces.

Bianca sat cross-legged on the floor, her chin propped on her hands, watching them.

Sarah tried to avoid standing on Ella's tortured feet, but kept tripping over them and cursed herself for her clumsiness and the world in general for the increasingly absurd situations in which she found herself. Ella's nails were long and uneven and they bit into Sarah's skin as they manoeuvred uneasily around the dusty floor. She was humming softly and after some minutes Sarah realised that she had unconsciously joined in. Sarah came to a stop and grabbed both Ella's wrists, holding her roughly at a little distance.

'How do you know that song?'

Nothing flickered in those clear eyes. 'What song?'

'The song you were just humming. How do you know it? Where did you hear it?' She could hear the strain in her own voice.

Bianca stood, took a few steps closer.

There was a mist forming on the fringes of her vision, bubbling across her eyes; and the pale face with its framing tendrils of blonde hair blurred into someone else's, the blue eyes shifting to two different colours.

The two women broke apart. Sarah could feel a fine layer of sweat coating her body.

Ella calmly massaged her wrist. 'I think I've danced enough for today.'

* * *

The sleet had stopped by the time he made his way back to the castle. The wind had picked up again - something far more cruel and biting than anything he had experienced in all his long years in the Underground. He bedded Bedivere down for the night and then took himself through the meandering corridors. Silence always had a quality of its own in the Goblin castle. It was usually one of unseen activity, the air always buzzing even when there was no-one to be seen.

But that had been before and now the silence was leaden.

Ahead light spilled from an open door into the darkened corridor; and behind that the murmur of voices that solidified into words as Sir Didymus crept closer, whiskers quivering.

'...hold out much longer.'

'I can hold out, as you put it, for as long as it takes' -Delaine, irritable- 'and I'll thank you not to talk about me as though I were not here.'

'All I meant was-'

'I know perfectly well what you meant.'

Ambrosius: 'Perhaps if you were to leave us for a moment, Rajad.'

Sir Didymus eased his nose around the doorframe, his one good eye peering into the room. Delaine was seated in an armchair by the fire, her hands gripping the arms so tightly her knuckles showed white under the strain. Rajad stood behind her, his hand resting on the head of the chair, close but not quite touching her. Ambrosius stood shrouded in the shadows beyond the half-circle of firelight.

Rajad's green eyes moved from Delaine to the sorcerer and back again.

'Perhaps he's right,' she said softly.

The unyielding figure stiffened even further. 'If that is what you wish.'

Delaine turned her face to his. 'It's what I think might be best at the moment.'

He was a static presence behind her; then he bowed, a jerking motion, and withdrew.

'He loves you. Still,' Ambrosius observed when the door had closed emphatically. Delaine was silent, her eyes huge and ringed with black. Ambrosius sighed. 'He wants nothing of you.'

'Really.'

'He offers much; his strength-'

'I am strong enough. Except that Rajad doesn't think so - and neither do you, it would seem.'

Ambrosius sighed again, a hint of exasperation in the rush of expelled air. 'I have no doubt of your abilities, Delaine, but I am also aware of your limitations, as are you. And your responsibilities - as, once again, are you.'

Delaine leant her head against the back of the chair. 'I don't want to be queen, Ambrosius.'

'I know. But that may be something of a non-choice.'

'You sent Sarah to find Jareth.'

'Yes. That was her duty, as she saw it. As we all saw it, perhaps. Even you. And this will be yours. You are of the Underground; it needs you as much as you need it. You must prepare yourself for that.'

Delaine stared into the fireplace, seeing something beyond the play of flame. 'You saw her.'

'For a time.'

'And?'

'And? And she passed beyond that time.'

Her face flashed with irritation. 'That doesn't mean anything.'

'Does it not?' Ambrosius' eyebrows rised. 'To me it means a great deal.'

Delaine blew out a breath, rose. She fixed the wizard with a stare that would have made lesser immortals, and mortals all, quail under its heat. 'So. You refuse to tell me anything.'

Ambrosius smiled. 'My dear, there is nothing more for me to tell.'

There was a silence for a time; a silence broken only by the faint persistent creaking, the grinding of stone-on-stone that was only discernible due to the absence of all other sound.

'I can endure,' Delaine said.

Ambrosius smiled sadly. 'I know.'

'But he is right. Rajad.'

'Yes.'

Her eyes were drawn back to the fire.

'You should rest.'

Silence. 'Yes.' She rose.

After she had gone the silence drew in, filling in the spaces as surely as the darkness that chased the voids left by the fire's dying embers.

Ambrosius sat in one of the chairs by the fireside, his chin sinking down to his chest. 'You can come in now, Didymus,' he called.

The little fox hesitated for a moment, them trotted in, pride affronted. 'How didst thou know...'

Ambrosius' head raised and from somewhere beneath his beard there was a flash of teeth. 'Oh, Didymus.'

The two old friends sat for a long while, until a branch burned down to ash and collapsed in a shower of bright sparks.

'Where is she?' Sir Didymus asked softly after a time.

'Beyond my knowing.'

The knight's one black eye shone steadily in the firelight. Ambrosius let out a breath, leant forward and poked the fire, muttering something indistinguishable. In the heart of the flame were two figures running down stone passages, fire following them. The girl's hair was as black as the man's but where his eyes were dark hers were clear and grey and lustrous.

'My Lady-' Sir Didymus stretched out a paw and was pushed back by Ambrosius.

'She is not there.'

He watched her, the girl he had known, the woman who was his queen in all but name, swallowed by the unforgiving earth. The fire died low, the embers glowing.

'Where is she now?'

'I do not know.'

'Will she return?'

Ambrosius' head had lowered again. 'I do not know.'

* * *

At the kitchen table, Sarah sat, her elbows heavy on the battered surface and her chin propped in her hands. Their skin felt rough against her cheek, the pads of her fingers hardened from the rough grass on the beach and the desperate clawing at rock and earth. Weariness took a hold of her, creeping into muscle, deeper, right down to the bone; she became aware of the aches in her body, of the throb in her right ankle as though she had twisted it, of the pain that speared along her shoulders when she turned her head to far in either direction. But despite the pain she felt her eyelids dragging over her eyes, gritty with the need for sleep. She straightened up, forced herself to a semblance of wakefulness and watched Bianca's form bustle to and fro across the kitchen, the ragged hem of her dress dragging along the flagstones. She moved lightly, with a nimble grace that Sarah envied. Offers of help had been declined and any pangs of guilt Sarah may have had had been subsumed by the relief that she could simply sit for a while; but now the inactivity drew her attention to her weaknesses, to the inadequacies of her own physique. Sarah scrubbed at her eyes, held them wide for a moment.

'How long have you been here, Bianca?'

The girl stopped, head on one side. 'A long time. I do not remember how long.' She was scoring what looked like a pomegranate, her movements deft and sure and the blade of her knife gleamed dully. 'I remember I used to live somewhere else, I had friends there.' She broke open the fruit, red seeds gleaming against white flesh. 'It was only a small house, much smaller than here, and there was a lot of work to be done. But we were happy. I think.'

'Where are they now, your friends?'

Bianca rapped the back of a large spoon against the rind, ejecting the seeds. 'They went to the mines. They always went to the mines, but then one day they didn't come back. I waited, for a long time, many, many days and nights. I waited and then I looked for them. I could hear their voices beneath the earth but I couldn't find them. I looked.' She stared hard at Sarah, making sure that she understood. 'I did look.'

Sarah nodded.

'And then I was here.' Bianca wiped her hands on her apron, leaving pale streaks. She smiled suddenly. 'I like having you here. You're more fun to talk to than Ella or Aurora.'

Sarah managed to curve her lips into a smile, albeit a weak one; she could not, in all conscience, respond in kind. 'You said a Woodsman came for one of the girls who was here, is there no-one coming for you?'

'There was someone, once.' Her head tilted again. 'I don't remember him much, either. He was handsome, I think. I saw him through glass.' Her voice trailed off and for a few moments she was somewhere else; then her gaze sharpened again. 'Will someone come for you?'

'No. There's no-one to come for me - I'm the one who's looking for him.'

Bianca's green eyes widened. 'That is not the way of things.'

'Maybe not, but it's the way of this thing.'

Bianca stirred the contents of the pot, raising herself on tip-toe. 'What's his name?'

'Jareth.' It still constricted in her chest, that painful ball she carried with her.

'What is he like?'

'He's...' How would she describe Jareth? Where could she begin? Knowing him, he would doubtless say that the beginning was somewhere near the end. Jareth. A dreamer, a king, a lover and a ruler, wild and true. 'He's... He is all things to me.'

Firelight flickered in the mighty grate, large enough for a man to stand in without stooping; it caught at the edges of Bianca's dark hair, burnishing it with red. Her eyes glowed gold. 'Is that what they call love?'

'Yes.' A whisper.

Love. Want. Need. She needed him as she needed air to breathe and water to drink. She needed him with a force as great as the energy that coursed through the Labyrinth itself. It was what they called love and it was terrifying.

Sarah was glad of the distraction from her thoughts when the meal was ready - and then glad for the meal in itself. A thick, glistening stew and a generous portion of it, bread, some wine. How long had it been since her breakfast with Emrys? Many hours at least, possibly days. She ate hungrily and made no disguise of her hunger. Bianca watched her approvingly, eating little herself, but keen to care for her guest. She trotted off to bring cheese, fruit, a sorbet of sorts served in tiny glasses admirable for their delicacy.

They spoke little, the sounds mainly the crackle and hiss of the fire and the scrape of Sarah's spoon against her bowl.

'Isn't Ella eating?' she asked, unsure if she could face the prospect of those empty eyes on her again.

'Later.'

For that, too, Sarah was grateful.

Sated, Sarah pushed her plate away. Weariness was still there but the aches had receded; it was almost a pleasant sensation, the heaviness of her limbs and the call of sleep.

_'Sarah.'_

The voice brushed against her ears.

'What was that?' She sat upright, everything in her taut and tingling.

Her name, again, louder, echoing through her mind. 'Sarah...' For one moment she thought that perhaps, after all, it was him, he had come for her. But it was not his voice: this was harsher, rougher, something that set her teeth on edge.

'I told you,' Bianca said warily, 'I told you. He will call you and you will have to go. I did tell you.'

'That's nonsense,' Sarah said irritably, her hand snapping through the air. 'You don't just up and go somewhere because someone - something - calls you.'

Do you not? And yet did you not call him, more than once? And did he not come to you; had he not waited lifetimes just for that?

But that had been different, she told herself fiercely.

_'Sarah...'_

'No. I won't. Do you hear me? I won't!'

Silence greeted her words. A log in the grate collapsed, sending up a shower of sparks. They both started. Bianca fixed her eyes on Sarah for a time, watching her keenly, then sighed, shrugged, a gesture that seemed to say that she had done all that she could.

The room to which Sarah was conducted was large and sparse and dusty but to Sarah it was the most beautiful room she had ever seen. It had a bed. Large, four-postered, covered in a patch-work silk counterpane and a massive feather bolster. It was beautiful. It called to her, far more strongly than any ethereal voice ever could.

'It is very dirty,' Bianca said doubtfully; she ran her fingers across the surface of a dresser, inspected them with disapproval. She again wiped her hand on her much-abused apron. 'I did not think we would have company.'

For a moment she was reminded irresistibly of Karen, always so meticulous, so hospitable. She smiled slightly at the memory. 'It's wonderful,' said Sarah, and took the candle from the hand of her diminutive hostess. 'Thank-you.'

She did not bother to remove her boots not belt nor any of her paraphernalia, only her knapsack was deposited on the floor. She sat on the edge of the bed and then sank backwards into its deep embrace. It was dusty, and the unexpected motion sent up a shower of feathers from the bolster. But it was soft, so soft, and welcoming, and it would soon mould itself to the contours of her body and be warmed by them and she would never, ever wish to leave. But she would, of course, come morning, when she was rested and the terrible aching tiredness had been slept off.

_'Sarah.'_

'Oh, leave me alone,' she said, eyes closed, 'I'm not one of your fairy-tale princesses.'

The silence held its breath and then something caught her around the ankle. Both ankles. She gasped aloud, tried to fight off the unseen presence, hands scrabbling vainly at the bed, at the air, at the floor she was dragged over so unceremoniously. Down the flights of stairs, her body jarred and jolting, the back of her head colliding with each sharp edge. Surroundings passed in a blur and she was aware only of going down, down, down ever down.

And then it stopped and she lay, panting, woozy, in darkness. A cellar of some sort, perhaps. The air smelt dank and the stones beneath her hands were slimy with moisture, and cold.

_'No-one refuses my call.'_

It hurt, dragging the air into her lungs. It would be so easy just to curl up, here on this hard damp floor, and close her eyes and simply slip away. She had been promised once that nothing would ever hurt again, but now everything hurt. Promises meant nothing when their maker was no longer there to keep them. Sarah bit down on her lip, pushed herself up from the floor. She too had promises to keep.

The density of darkness she had seen once before, there on the battlements of the Goblin Castle. The same fear ran through her again. Darkness moved within darkness, a shapeless form shifting but she had the impression of sharp teeth and dull yellow eyes watching her.

Yes, she could see the eyes. And she could smell the breath, rank and redolent of despair and death.

_'What of your defiance now?'_

'I haven't given in.'

The Wolf laughed, a low unsettling sound. _'You should see yourself, crouching in your little corner. Pathetic.'_

Sarah's head lifted. 'Oh? I'm not the one who needs to feel powerful by keeping little girls chained up or sleeping in a vipers' nest. That isn't even power it's just-just dominance. Fear. It doesn't mean anything.'

A repeat of that laughter and then the sucking in of breath; the yellow eyes hardened. _'We shall see. We shall find some special chore for you and after a few thousand years when your beauty is faded and your body is worn, then we shall see what you think power is.'_

It was closer to her, she could feel the breath, the snap of teeth. Darkness and no way to fight it, no light-

Light.

She scrabbled through the pockets of her jacket, found the matches. Her fingers trembled, stiff and thick and cold. The head would not ignite. She struck again, the smell of cordite seared the back of her throat and her eyes were dazzled by the flame. It did not last for long, but it was enough: a few seconds' reprieve, a receding of the blackness. She struck another, and another, watched helplessly as the flames burned bright and then died. She remembered the brandy, opened the flask, emptied the contents, dropped a match into the pool.

The alcohol would soon burn off and then she would still be there and then there really would be nothing.

The flames leapt around her, racing across the ground. They did not burn out. Everything was on fire, she realised, and from beyond the wall of flame she could hear a howl that rose to a terrible scream.

Sarah backed further into her corner. The flagstones were warmed by the fire, their dull sheen dried by its ferocity. Her eyes ached with the force of the heat. She had feared dying in the dark, below the earth; now she feared the agony of the fire that would soon engulf her. Drawing her knees to her chest, she laid her forehead against them, closed her eyes against the prickling behind them. She had submitted to the paths and they had led her nowhere.

_'They will call you Firedancer...'_

The priest's hands heavy on her head, the holy oil sinking into her skin; she could still feel it, feel its burn.

Firedancer.

Sarah raised her head. The screaming had stopped. The flames were close, writhing densely. And beyond them now she sensed a stillness. Sarah crouched for a moment, feeling the fan of hot air against her face, then pitched herself forward into the fire.


	12. A Beat in the Night

The warmth was pleasant. It didn't burn, nothing hurt, it was just ... nice. Sunlight, not fire, playing against her cheek. She could live with sunlight. More sensations crept in. A breeze stirred her hair; the air carried a briny smell and the sound of water lapping and layered over that a buzzing that rose and fell and rose again. Wood creaked. She was lying on wood, she realised, its hardness unyielding under her body.

Sarah tried to move and found that she could not. Her fingers wriggled feebly but her hands remained stubbornly immobile and when she tried again to move them she felt the rope bite into the flesh of her wrists. Her ankles were similarly bound, so tight that now she could feel the bones grinding together even through boot-leather. She opened her eyes, blinking against the sunlight that seemed unnaturally bright. The sky was very clear, a pale washed-out blue. And the buzz she had heard still rose and fell but it deepened and came closer and resolved itself into voices.

'We can.'

'We can't.'

'We can.'

_'We can't.'_

'Why not?'

'Look at it.' She felt something prod her none too gently, a foot perhaps. Someone had kicked her. 'It's all skinny. No-one wants to buy skinny, they don't last, can't work, good for nuffin' they is.'

'Maybe they'd be wantin' 'er for summink else.' It was said with a leer.

A pause. 'Nah. Look at the state of it. Oo'd want that?'

'She's a girl, in't she?'

'S'pose so. I still say you should've left it where it was. I ain't feedin' it, waste of good food givin' it to summink like that.'

'Maybe if we fatten 'er up.'

Another pause. 'Take too bleedin' long to get that into any sorta state for them markets. It would eat us out of the 'ole bleedin' ship.'

'I'm not an it,' Sarah muttered; her voice rasped, tongue feeling thick and dry and too large in her mouth.

'Dja 'ear that? It's talkin'! 'Ere,' a hand shook her roughly, 'wos that?'

'I'm not an it. Stop talking about me like I'm a thing.'

Laughter greeted this. 'You 'ear that? It thinks it's summink!'

More laughter, raucous.

Sarah squinted at the conversationalists. Both filthy, one stocky and dark, the other tall, gangly, bony. Skin the colour of parchment stretched over the face. The dark one bent over her and she was overwhelmed by the stench of stale liquor and unwashed skin. The face grinned at her, showing a display of missing teeth and the ones that remained were rotting. Stubby fingers caught her face, digging into her cheeks. A tongue appeared between the remnants of teeth, moistening the flabby lower lip.

'Not that bad lookin' when you really look at it. Mebbe we can get summink for it after all.'

Sarah squirmed, but the grip held her mercilessly.

'Know wot we should do?'

'Wot?' asked the gaunt companion.

'We should try it out first. Y'know - test the merchandise.'

The parchment-skin flushed with delight. Sarah felt her stomach roil. The bonds were cut from her wrists and ankles and the sudden return of feeling to her limbs as the blood surged through hurt as much as the absence. Winded, weakened, she lay helpless on the deck. High above, at the top of the rigging, a ragged black flag fluttered.

'Wos that?'

'Wot?'

'That?' Bony fingers scrabbled at her collar, closed around a fine chain and yanked it away.

Delaine's amulet shone richly in the sun and the two men gazed in admiration, avarice enlivening their dull features. The stocky one let out a whistle.

'That'll fetch a pretty penny, no mistake. Giz it 'ere.'

'Oi, I found it, I'll keep til we get to shore.'

'This is my ship, sonny, remember?'

They faced each other, teeth bared.

Sarah made another futile attempt to push herself up, her body stubbornly refusing to co-operate. 'Give it back.'

Her skinny captor turned his attention to her. 'Precious, is it?'

'It's my way back,' she heard herself say, feeble, no control over the words coming from her mouth. Shut up, she willed herself, stay quiet.

'Back where?'

'To the Underground.'

It was clasped tightly in his hand. 'The Underground.' The air shivered and he vanished.

The stocky figure fell back a few paces, then advanced again, hands testing the air where his companion had been. Then his gaze fell on Sarah.

'Witch.' He made a gesture, something to protect himself against her. And Sarah watched him helplessly. Her arms and legs were tingling but she still couldn't get them to move properly. 'Wot choo do to 'im? Bring 'im back.'

'I can't.'

The dark face contorted in fury. 'Witch! Well, I know wot to do wiv your kind.' He crossed to her, picked her up, and dropped her over the side of the ship.

* * *

For the first time in all her long years, the Labyrinth seemed alien to Delaine. Pathways through which she had walked so many times before were made strange, not quite how she recalled them looking. She looked back at the Goblin Castle and was certain that it was not where it had been only moments before. And that too did not look quite as it ought. To her eyes the entire structure seemed to be listing, sagging beneath an intolerable weight. The rock below the foundations had shifted, of that she was certain, and if the foundations themselves had been damaged, if there were cracks-

There were cracks in everything, letting in the light and the dark. She pressed her hands against her eyes, blocking out the world, and when she looked again the castle was as it had been before. Or perhaps that too was an illusion.

Delaine continued the path she had been following, ignoring the bitter cold. It had descended the night before, so sudden and so fierce that the water in the fountains had frozen, solid glittering cascades through the air. She stopped by one such, examining the clear ice. It caught the light of the late evening sun, bloated, red, low in the sky; it turned everything it touched the colour of blood. A movement beyond caught her attention, a glimmer that split the air and let something through.

It was an insubstantial figure: a man, tall and thin and ragged; he gazed about wildly, his grin one of triumph. And for a moment he gained substance, Delaine could see the sickly hue of his skin as it darkened; and then his triumph turned to horror. He cried out, Delaine started forward and stopped again, watching with a curious detachment. The man's popping eyes landed on her, one hand stretching out for aid. It greyed, the fingers shrivelling down to the bone, then to nothingness and his being collapsed in fragments of cloth and ashen dust.

Delaine still stood for some little while, staring at the pile before moving toward it. There was still something solid in that pathetic little heap. She stooped, picked it up, wiped the white dust from the familiar contours and her breath was sucked in with a hiss. She clasped the amulet so tightly its edges bit into her flesh, a pain she did not feel.

Her first thought was of Ambrosius; again she started forward and again she stopped. For the being that had materialised before her and so rapidly disintegrated again she felt nothing; it had not been a living thing, merely a shade, a phantom of someone that had once been. Such were the inhabitants of the realms of the dead. Sarah must be getting closer - but she would not have parted with the amulet willingly and if she were trapped with the wraiths, she may get no further. She would not go forward and she would not return. And Jareth would not return. And the thought of that ate at her soul like rust. She unclenched her hand and observed with some surprise the gouges the amulet had left in her palm, deep enough to draw blood. It was not Ambrosius she needed.

ooOoo

'Ah, well done, my Lord!'

Toby gazed balefully at Sir Didymus, rubbing his elbow and not seeing what it was he was being congratulated for, apart from having been disarmed by the fox yet again. He picked up the stick he used to practise with and took up the proper position. Nearly the proper position. Sir Didymus trotted over, rearranging him, moving his feet, bending one arm and straightening the other, lifting his chin.

'Now, if thou wouldst-'

'Toby!'

Delaine emerged from the shadowed archway into the courtyard, grey draperies fluttering around her the same colour as the surrounding stone. 'Come here.'

'I haven't finished my lesson,' he said, still holding the pose in which Sir Didymus had set him.

'Yes you have. Come here.'

Toby walked towards her, stopped a few paces before he would ordinarily. Her face was pale and the glitter in her eyes was inhuman- No. She was not human, so they were always inhuman, but now they were unnatural. A smile forced its way across her lips. 'I need to talk to you.'

Sir Didymus had followed his young charge. 'Your Highness, if there is aught-'

'There isn't.' Her arm around Toby's shoulders she drew him back through the archway, into the dimly lit corridor of the castle. She kept one hand on his shoulder, bent down until her face was on level with his.

'I need something from you Toby. Two things: I need a favour and I need you not to tell anyone. Can you do that?'

'Well, yeah-'

She took him through corridors, through places of the castle he had never seen before and was not certain he wanted to see again. Strange rooms with high ceilings and grotesque grinning faces carved in stone, then a staircase that spiralled ever upwards. They emerged in a tower, the likes of which he had seen once before; it was held together by enchantment, delicate archways that supported no walls and a ceiling of the open sky. It was, perhaps, the same one. Then it had been filled with music and laughter and the brilliance of exotic plants. Now it was empty, bitterly cold and the plantlife was twisted brown stems, dormant until spring. except for one plant. One bush stood apart from the others, its massive pot stained with verdigris and its leaves dark and shiny. It held one bloom, a magnificent rose whose pure white petals gleamed with a pearl's lustre.

'Toby.'

He looked up at Delaine. She had changed again, her robes white and edged with owl feathers; they spread out like wings. The little boy shifted from one foot to another, uncomfortably aware of Delaine's otherworldliness - a fact he rarely confronted directly despite being fully cognisant of its truth. Her gaze still glittered, unrelenting.

'I need you to help me; I need you to help me to help Sarah.'

His eyes widened.

'I lent her this' -her fingers touched the amulet lying against her breast- 'it was a way for her to return to the Underground. It has been taken from her and I fear for her safety. That is why I need your help.'

Like the awareness of Delaine's power, Toby was equally suddenly aware of his own smallness. 'How?'

'Do you remember when you first came to the Underground? How you then helped Jareth to locate Sarah?'

'Through her dreams, yeah! You want me to do that again?' Eager, his face bright. Delaine smiled slightly.

'Not exactly. It is through her dreams, I believe - I hope - that she can be reached. But she is much further away than she was then and the dreams she will experience are far deeper. The power needed to reach her is greater than you possess.'

Toby's face had lost its glow. 'Then what do you want me to do?'

'Blood calls to blood,' she said simply. Then another of those faint smiles. 'Don't worry, it is not a very great amount. No more than a little prick; it will only hurt a little. Will you help me, Toby?'

He swallowed, nodded. Delaine held out her hand to him and he slipped his into it, feeling her fingers, cold, curling around his. With her free hand she plucked the rose from its bush. 'I'm sorry,' she said softly, and he gasped as one of the wicked thorns bit into the soft pad of his finger. He jerked reflexively but Delaine held him firmly. Toby pressed his lips together, then forget the stab of pain. The rose's white petals had taken on a delicate blush and as he watched it deepened, darkened to a deep blood crimson.

Delaine released him; Toby sucked his finger, tasting the the salty tang.

In silence, she carefully cradled the heavy head of the flower in the folds of fabric at her bosom; she paused for a moment to lay one hand on Toby's shoulder, then continued across to one of the arches. She stood framed by night, then gave herself to it, white wings spread against the dark.

Toby ran after her, braced himself against the stone window arch and gazed hopelessly at the owl's flight, its cry echoing across the empty sky. Pattering footsteps behind him, someone breathing heavily after the exertion of mounting the spiral staircase. He stared at Sir Didymus and the fox's one good eye was opaque black in the dim light.

'Where has she gone?' Toby demanded.

Sir Didymus' whiskers bristled.

* * *

The wind had picked up and she rode the cold currents, high above the Labyrinth. She felt the swell of its power, that and the predator's heart beating in her breast. A huntress, fierce, as she needed to be and she delighted in it, this wildness to which she gave in so rarely.

But surrendering to the pull was not something she could do now, not entirely. Wings beating, she soared higher, catching the current rising from the long ridge that hugged the east wall of the Labyrinth. Over the great maze, further out beyond the river that was now a thick ribbon of ice cutting across the land, over the woodland with its black trees. She dived, dropping fast, and landed, steadying herself as her body changed and with it her senses. A predator no more, but she could still feel the echo with every beat of her heat.

It was far colder than she had realised, a rawness that took the breath from her. The snow had frozen underfoot, as hard and smooth as glass, and Delaine made no sound as she took the steps to the water's edge. Glimmerpool. Of all the places in the Underground, this was not her favourite part. It was no-one's favourite part. The perpetual silence that lived in this wood was a creature in itself. Despite the deep cold that had turned everything else to ice, the surface of the water was untouched; deep, dark, it lay so clear it reflected like a mirror. Delaine observed her own reflection for a moment. So alike, they had always looked so alike, her and Jareth, been so alike. Bound so close for all those years. She took the rose from her bosom and a small dagger from her belt, did not flinch as the blade cut across the palm of her hand; it bled freely. She closed the bleeding hand around the flower head, squeezed it, emptying it of the crimson stain. Toby's blood and hers dripped down, stirring the still waters of Glimmerpool until the surface was ringed with red-tinged ripples. When the rose petals fell, pale and limp, from between her fingers, Delaine stepped into the pool and slipped beneath the surface.


	13. Dreaming my Life

The lights lining the freeway passed in a blur. Sarah had always found them soporific; her eyes closed against the speeding blur. Backseat of her dad's car with its smell of worn leather, almost enough to pretend she was a kid again. She roused herself, straightened, blinked against the dazzle of on-coming headlights on the other side of the central reservation. Music playing on the car stereo, a DJ who sounded far too cheerful, his voice segueing to something unspeakably cheesy. Sarah groaned out loud.

'Oh, I like this song,' Karen said, turning up the volume. Sarah smiled to herself; her stepmother had many fine qualities, but her taste in music was not one of them.

'Okay,' said Sarah, 'but when it's finished can we please switch to a station that plays stuff with, y'know, decent tunes? And lyrics?'

No response, Karen too busy keeping time with the music, fingers against the dashboard, Robert focused on the road. The song ended, cross-fading into another that was equally bad. For this, at least, Karen turned the volume down again, sat back.

'Hey, I asked if we could change the station.'

Still no response.

'Hey. Hey! Karen!' Sarah tried to sit forward and couldn't. It wasn't that she was restrained, simply that her body refused to comply with what she asked of it. 'Karen. Dad.'

She felt so weightless. Insubstantial. And everything was rushing by so fast. Something stirred vaguely at the back of her mind, a sudden cold finger of grief, a stone room and arms holding her, arms that offered safety, sanctuary, and unquestioning love. She heard Karen's sudden exclamation, was dazzled again by headlights, this time not on the other side of the freeway. Metal span towards them. Memory hit her and so did the dark.

* * *

_The sun blazed overhead, a pale orb that bleached the sky. She could feel the shingles shifting under her feet, sharp edges pressing through the thin leather soles of her shoes. The waves breaking on the shore were a rhythmic pulse and behind them came the song from the white-clad figures on the boat - a low craft with its sails filled by the prevailing wind. Between those veiled figures was another, his once golden hair now silver that shone under the sun. His arm was raised in a gesture of farewell. At least, it had been - now they were too far off for her to see._

_She would have retreated from the shoreline but Jareth's arm around her shoulders kept her there, watching, staring out to the horizon until the small craft was a dot and then a nothingness and then their father was gone from them, passed beyond their knowledge, and her eyes ached from it. Beads of sweat ran down her back, the folds of her dress sticking to her body. She eased herself from Jareth's grasp, made her way up the beach and sat on a stump that had been blasted by the wind and the water and the salt air. Her brother followed her slowly, eyes still turning back to the horizon as if to find something that was beyond all hope of returning._

_'But I don't want to be king, Dela,' he said, as though continuing a conversation that had had no interruption._

_'But you are king now,' she said simply._

_His eyes were darkened and furious. 'No, I'm not. I haven't taken the crown. They can't make me.'_

_He looked so thin, she thought. Gangly. Knobbly joints standing out against long fragile limbs. One day he would grow into them, into the crown, into all that was expected of him, but now - she watched him despairingly - now he was too young; and she was younger still and of no help to him. She wanted her father back; she wanted back the mother she could barely remember._

_He walked up the incline, feet slipping on the shingles, and she made a space for him on the petrified stump she had claimed._

_'It isn't fair,' Jareth said softly. She put her head on his shoulder._

_'Your Majesty!'_

_They both started, both watched with mixture of fascination and amusement as the small figure slithered down the shifting shingle, his claws flexing to find purchase on the fickle stone. 'Your Majesty!' Didymus bowed low._

_'Don't call me that.'_

_The little fox straightened. 'It is thy title-'_

_'No, it isn't!' Jareth stood, striding across to where Didymus waited. 'And it isn't going to be. You don't call me that - do you understand?'_

_It would have looked comical, the little fox facing the blazing eyes looking down at him from Jareth's greater height. It was not comical. The air crackled; Delaine shifted uneasily on her seat, watching them._

_'Thy subjects await thee at the castle,' Didymus said calmly._

_Jareth's lips pressed together, a hard line, a muscle bunching in his jaw under the strain. 'They'll have to wait, then. They are not my subjects. Tell them to find themselves another leader if they want one that badly.'_

_'Sire, there is no other, not without a war. It is thy duty-'_

_'How dare you speak to me like that! How dare you mention duty. Duty! My parents did their duty and what did they get for it? Death and despair and endless damn goblins. And the likes of you, always wanting things, always talking on and on and never actually saying anything. Perhaps my father put up with it but I won't, not with any of it.'_

_Didymus blinked slowly, still holding himself at his full, albeit diminutive, height; he was perfectly still, only the breeze ruffling the fur over his collar. 'I remember the last war, as well thou knowst. I, too, remember the noble sacrifices of thy mother Queen Alinúr and thy father the King. These were not easy decisions and neither was the decision of His Majesty to leave thee, and us. He placed in thee his trust, and all of ours. The Underground must be lead, and best it were led by the line of thy house. Perhaps we have no right to ask it of thee, but we ask.'_

_Like Didymus, Jareth was motionless, as still as one of the pieces of driftwood littering the stretch of beach but far more unrelenting. 'Give me your sword.' And his voice was as hard as a blade._

_Didymus unsheathed the weapon, handed it to Jareth._

_'Kneel.'_

_'Jareth-' Delaine stood, slipped on the shingles, watched in horror as the blade was lifted, glittering horribly in the sunlight. 'Jareth, don't!'_

_He touched the tip of the sword to Didymus' shoulder, passed it over the bowed head, touched his other shoulder. 'Arise, Sir Didymus, Knight of the Underground.'_

_The fox remained kneeling but raised his head. 'Who says this?'_

_'I do. I, Jareth, Goblin King, Ruler of the Underground, Keeper of the Labyrinth, say this. My first duty as ruler of these lands.' One corner of his mouth twitched and he added gravely. 'And it is your duty, old friend, to remind me of this when I forget.'_

_Sir Didymus lowered his head. 'Yes, Your Majesty.'_

* * *

It had taken Sir Didymus far too long to follow Delaine's route through the castle, even longer to understand where she had gone after that and he cursed himself for his lack of insight. Back down through the winding corridors, his paws performing a frantic tattoo on the stone floors, he felt the strain in his joints and the awful undeniable truth that he was no longer quite as young as he had once been. A galling admission and not one that came easily. Not one that he wished to confront and certainly not now. He pushed on, reaching the lower floor and, at last, the long gallery that ran almost the length of the north wing. The great windows that punctuated the smooth expanse of wall were black, streaked by the silver glitter of rain. It rattled against the glass, followed by the howl of wind. Sir Didymus' rapid pace decreased despite his will. When he reached the threshold of the door he braced himself against the frame, breathing hard, an unpleasant tearing sensation in his chest.

'My-' He stopped, gasped. 'My Lord.'

The figures turned to him, Vathani breaking off her soft singing. Rajad's slanted eyes narrowed, impatience replaced by curiosity, then concern. 'Sir Didymus?'

'Where is Ambrosius?' He waved away Vathani's offers of help, refusing the suggested seat.

'He's- I don't know where he is. What is it?'

Sir Didymus let out a long breath, finally accepted Vathani's insistent aid and leaned against her heavily. He sank onto one of the cushions in front of the fire; warmth penetrated his bones, reviving him. He told Rajad what he knew of Delaine's flight, his story broken off by the Elf's cry of fury.

'What?' Vathani stared up at him, her liquid black eyes wide and worried. 'What is Glimmerpool?'

'Somewhere she should have known better than to go,' Rajad told her, his face reddened with the effort of self-control. 'What by all the gods was she thinking?'

'To save Lady Sarah,' Sir Didymus replied wearily.

Rajad stood, his hands clenched at his sides. Jareth, then Sarah and now Delaine. It was enough. He swallowed the anger. Sir Didymus was a bundle of fur and velvet by the fire, his head drooping, his eye shut. 'Stay with him,' he ordered Vathani, then paused. 'Where is the child?'

Sir Didymus' head rose. 'I left him in the tower.'

Vathani stood, a smooth flowing motion. 'I'll find him.'

Rajad nodded, strode towards the door and felt tension snap. 'That bloody woman!' he barked to the room in general, then left.

* * *

Of all the places in the Underground, this was one of her favourite parts. The ancient orchard, the trees with their thickened gnarled trunks and branches heavy with the late harvest. Fruit already over-ripe lay around them, their dense aroma filling the air. She squinted up at the sunlight filtered through the lace-work pattern of foliage - still green, but the hint of gold and russet that would soon envelope them was already there.

'What it is with you and peaches, anyway?'

An elegant, nonchalant shrug greeted the question. 'I like them. But a fairly innocuous fruit, despite that.'

Sarah smiled slightly. ' "Do I dare disturb the universe?" "Do I dare to eat a peach?" If he'd known what I know, Eliot might have chosen a banana instead.'

Jareth's head turned to her inquisitively. 'Who is this Eliot?'

Sarah raised her eyebrows. 'Jealous?'

She was presented with his profile, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere towards the boundary wall of the Labyrinth. 'Of a mortal? For what possible reason should I be jealous?'

She watched him for a moment, her head tilted; her lips twitched. 'Eliot was a great man.' He stared ahead resolutely. 'Artistic, creative...' His posture was increasingly rigid. Sarah laughed softly. 'T.S. Eliot. He was a poet, we studied him at school.'

'Poet... Hah!'

Her eyebrows went up. 'Us mortals have produced some pretty good poets-'

'Name one.'

'William Shakespeare,' she said, triumphant. Jareth snorted.

'A plagiarist.'

'Okay, artists: Da Vinci, Michaelangelo-'

'They were Fae.'

'They- What?'

The one corner of his mouth that she could see turned up in a smirk. 'They were not mortal. At least, they had not been: they disgraced themselves and were exiled to the Aboveground. Really, my precious thing, did you think that Michaelangelo's rendering of the Day of Judgement was simply conjured from his imaginings? He did take some liberties, I admit, but then it was a somewhat trying experience for him.'

'He...' Sarah pressed her lips together, felt her mouth go dry. But she did not miss the sly quirk of his lips and she narrowed her eyes. 'There are times when I never want to see you again.'

'And the other times?'

'There are no other times,' she said flatly.

He turned to her. 'Are there not?' In the setting sun his hair burned gold and his skin gleamed with the same colour. She leaned into him, taking in the warmth and the feel and the smell of him. Her face turned up to his, waiting for the claiming kiss and then there was something on the edges of her vision. She turned her head.

'What was that?'

'What was what? Sarah. Come here.'

A movement through the trees, a white figure slipping through. Jareth's hand on her arm tried to stay her but somehow it wasn't quite enough. There was something in the woods and even though she could hear nothing she knew that it called to her.

'A moment,' she said, 'I'll just be a moment.' She slipped away from him. The path twisted through the trees, taking her deeper into the heart of the wood. It was silent there, no rustling in the undergrowth, no birdsong, not even the soughing of leaves. That tantalising glimmer of white ahead. The path narrowed, trees either side pressing closer, their boughs nearly meeting overhead, closing out the light. When she emerged into the clearing it brought a sense of relief, although the place itself did not strike her as a happy one. A serene scene but somehow a hostile one; the waters of the small pool were curiously dark despite the sun. She had at least tracked the elusive figure to a standstill and looked with surprise, not only that her quarry had been Delaine all along, but that the Princess should look so wan. More than wan, she seemed entirely grey: it streaked her hair turning the bright blonde to ash, it drained her skin. The two women faced each other, then Delaine began to speak urgently.

At least, her lips moved but there was no sound.

Sarah shook her head sharply, frowned. 'Wait. Stop! I-I can't hear you.'

Delaine crossed to her, tried to take hold of Sarah's arm and would have had her hand not passed through Sarah's solid form. Delaine's look of horror, she was sure, mirrored her own. She felt her stomach contract, flutter horribly, felt the rising panic. White noise filled her head, the world blurring at the edges. Everything seemed to be stretching, tilting, rushing inwards and then settling again. Still the white noise and the feeling that she couldn't quite get enough air, like her lungs were filling with water. Delaine's lips were moving again, slow, trying to enunciate something that Sarah couldn't hear. But she could hear Jareth's voice calling to her, coming ever closer. When he reached her it would be all right. She concentrated on Delaine, the two words she was repeating - shouting, if she could have been heard - over and over.

_Wake-_

Sarah frowned.

_Wake up._

_Wake up. Wakeupwakeupwakeup..._

'But I am awake,' she said stupidly. She was certain of that.

'Sarah!' Jareth's hand on her shoulder.

Sarah turned, grateful, and found a grinning death's head where he should have been. She screamed and kept screaming and her mouth really was filling with water and she choked and woke up.

She was in water, struggling against a current, trying to keep her head above it. The pirates, she remembered, the pirates and she had been thrown overboard. And before that the fire and the Wolf, and before that the dragons and-

She remembered what was before that, remembered all of it.

She flailed helplessly, her sodden clothing heavy, weighing her down. Swimming had never been her strongest accomplishment: it was a pleasant, lazy activity on a hot day but not this. The current pulled her on, its strength robbing her of breath.

It was getting faster, stronger and over the sound her own gasps she became aware of a dull roar that was growing in volume. A waterfall, she realised, when she saw the wall of spray rising up ahead of her, and the dull roar had become deafening. Her attempts at clawing her way against the surge of water were futile, she was borne ceaselessly forward through the foam created by the impending fury. She sought for a refuge somewhere, anywhere.

Hope arose, without warning and painfully when she collided with the peak of a rock rising through the churning. Sarah clung to it, her hands slipping over the smooth wet surface and the coating of lichen. Her already-broken nails dug against the unyielding face, trying to find a purchase and still there was the pull of the current. She could feel the spray against her face, imagined her body being broken under the pounding force. Her hands slipped, she cried out, swallowed a mouthful of water, coughed against it, half-pulled herself up onto her piece of rock. Again she slipped, tried to right herself, and felt the final piece of solidity slide form under her fingers and the current took her over the falls.

* * *

The storm had broken in all its ferocity, rending the sky with forks of lightning that shook the ground with their thunder in the instant of their appearance. Clouds raced across the face of the moon, breaking, reforming, and breaking again under the force of the wind. No creature with any sense would venture out on such a night.

Rajad twisted his fingers into his mare's mane and urged her into the teeth of the storm. Even the oiled surface of his heavy Elven cloak was not enough to withstand the full force of the rain: it ran in rivulets down the folds, found its way through to his skin. Droplets struck his face, sharp, blinding him.

Bloody woman, he thought again. He should leave her to drown. He should leave her cold and shivering and alone to make her way through the Labyrinth back to the castle. He should get Ambrosius to enchant the castle so that she should never find it, or at the very least until after she had learnt her lesson.

He bent low over Rashira's neck, murmuring comfort and urgency into the pricked ears. He would have preferred a clear run over a flat plain but their path, of necessity, was picked with care through the forest and the going was agonisingly slow. For the first time in his life, Rajad longed for the ability to transport himself at will with only a thought, to transform, for wings that could bear him, fast, on a high current. But he was no magician and what power he had was rendered ineffective in the Underground.

Damn her a thousand times over, he thought grimly. And a thousand more after that.

The rain had at least softened the hard banks of ice, allowing Rashira's hooves to find purchase over the uncertain terrain. Rajad lowered his head, squinting through the water that fell like a sheet. A tangle of branches rose abruptly; he pulled at Rashira's head, calling out to her and felt her surge upward. They cleared the thicket, barely, landed where the trees gave way to a small patch of open land.

Rajad dismounted, crossed the frozen ground, dropped to his knees at the edge of the pool, its surface boiling under the rain's ferocity. Delaine's face upturned, eyes closed, pale hair spread across the water. He leant forward, grasped her, pulled at her until he could slide his arms under hers and hauled her unceremoniously out of the pool. She was a deadweight, flopping against him, heavy and so, so pale. Her skin had barely more colour than the surrounding snow. But there was breath. She breathed. She lived. A gash across her hand oozed, crimson fading to pink on her sodden gown. A piece torn from the lining of his cloak seemed barely any drier, but he bound the wound with it, lifted her, carried her across to where Rashira stood, patient, nosing the ground in the hope of grass.

He laid Delaine across Rashira's back, steadied both himself and the unconscious figure as he mounted. He wrapped both of them in the cloak, keeping one arm firmly around Delaine, her wet head under his chin; he could feel the faint warmth of breath against his neck.

Next time he'd let her kill herself if that was what she wanted.

He turned Rashira's head and they plunged back into the storm.

* * *

They found her at night. The guards patrolling the castle boundary had seen the figure, approached it cautiously. They had used sticks, branches, to pull her closer to the river bank before pulling her out. Black hair against skin that was as pale as the moonlight. She looked like one who was already dead. But they detected breath, faint signs of life and then stood, uncertain, waiting for orders from the castle.

The orders came direct, from Silverfox himself. The pale form flitted through the trees like smoke, delicate paws barely disturbing the earth. They shrank from those watchful yellow eyes, not quit meeting their gaze.

'Where did she come from?' Silver voice as well, silky and insidious.

'Dunno, sir.'

Silverfox approached her, completed a circuit of the motionless figure, peered into her face, sniffed at her and caught alien scents clinging to her hair and the strange clothes she wore behind the smell of the river water and the cold.

'Should we put her back, sir?' one guard asked, not liking the strange intensity of the fox's interest.

'No. Take her up to the castle.'

* * *

The artwork that literally no-one asked for: **Delaine, Princess of the Underground**

****


	14. Such a Sad Love

The deep waters were milky, their surface adorned with the heavy purple heads of amaranths. She squeezed out the juices of the flowers, rubbing them into her skin; their scent was musky, dense, life-giving. Mírthíêl leaned back lazily, skimming her pale fingers through the warm water, drinking in that heady scent. It was a long time, too long, since she had had a companion. She thought of the Goblin King and the long lean lines of his body, the fierce beauty of his face. She remembered his father, a handsome man but one broken by loss and illness; the Sisters had tended him and he passed beyond her lands. But his son. His son was different. Jareth. She smiled to herself. When she rose, taking one of the bathing sheets from the pile and stepping from the bath, she pause, observed herself in the mirror. The heat of the water had suffused her body with a blush of pink.

It was a good body, she thought with pleasure: narrow waist, firm high breasts, long slender legs. And she was beautiful, she knew that. She had heard that the Goblin King had taken a mortal lover, a creature for whom he had reordered time and nearly lost his kingdom. She smiled again, contemptuous. Men made stupid mistakes when in thrall to the exotic; perhaps even something so mundane as a mortal could seem strange, exciting, just by its difference. But what mortal could compare, compete, with her? The Gatekeeper, the Mistress of the Amaranthine Realms. Her beauty was powerful, and her power was fearsome.

She unpinned the length of her hair, watched its sleek blonde curtain fall into place. And she imagined those strong, clever fingers of his running through it, pressing against her scalp.

A flutter of white draperies pulled her from this reverie. She scowled at the slight, veiled figure who deposited the tray and had the impression of glittering dark eyes watching her.

'Yes? Did you want something?'

The figure withdrew, gliding silently. After so many centuries, Mírthíêl was beginning to resent the presence of the Sisters here. Her good mood evaporating, she wrapped the fine linen around herself, picked up the key that she had removed before her bath and fastened the long chain around her neck.

* * *

Delaine woke suddenly, her mind blurred by images both familiar and horrifying. She became aware of her surroundings, the high vaulted ceilings, the pale wood panelling, the immediacy of the silk, cotton, and wool that covered her in layers. Familiarity, security. She eased herself up, sucked in a breath at the dull throb that sent a spear of pain up her arm. Her hand had been neatly bandaged and she examined the handiwork, waited for the pain to subside. There was a fire built high in the grate, taking the chill from the air. And beside it, in a high-backed chair with his long legs stretched out inelegantly, was Rajad, asleep, his face squashed against the chair's angular wings.

He looked uncomfortable, out of place, unlike himself. And cold, she thought, despite the cheerful blaze of firelight. His shirt was thin, open at the throat, exposing a long V of bronze skin down his chest. She slipped out from beneath the delightful warmth and the softness of her bed, pulled one of the blankets from the pile that had covered her, padded silently across the room and paused on the rug before the hearth. He looked ridiculously young, yet strangely wearied; the lines of stress and worry were wrought deeper into his face. All that stiff dignity suddenly gone. Not suddenly, she reminded herself: that had always been something with which he merely cloaked himself - a defence against all comers, even her. She bent over him, gently depositing the blanket over his person when he started up, his hand grabbing at her, green eyes glittering dangerously. Delaine let out a yelp, sprang back, stood with the blanket clutched to her chest. They stared at each other.

'You're awake,' he said accusingly, straightening himself in the chair.

'Yes.' Still they stared. She became aware of the thinness of her nightgown, of the way it had moulded itself to her, of how against the background of dancing firelight it would be all but transparent. She wondered who had put her into it in the first place. She did not use the blanket as a barrier. 'I thought you might be cold,' she said, proffering it.

'I'm fine,' he said gruffly, unfolding himself and feeling his limbs protest against the stiffness induced by cold and inertia. In the firelight her skin was turned to gold, the feather-like markings around her eyes stark, and her body-

He kept his eyes resolutely on her face.

'You've been asleep for twenty hours. More.'

She looked appalled. 'Why did you let me sleep so long?'

Something shook across his chest, worked its way up to a barely contained explosion from his lips. 'It was not a matter of letting! In all my recollection, no-one has ever 'let' you do anything! You've always done as you damn well please without much thought as to what anyone else may think or feel about it.'

'Since when do you care?'

'I don't.'

'Oh.'

Her fair hair, loose and glinting softly, had curled that one lock around her throat. He lifted it away, his fingers brushing against her skin, the fine ridge of her collar-bone. For a moment her eyes closed. She looked up at him. 'Have you been here all that time?'

His hand dropped to his side. 'No. I had to dry off Rashira, feed her, make sure she was warm enough after she was soaked to the skin. Then I had to dry off as I, too, was soaked to the skin. It all took some time.'

'Yes,' she said softly, 'yes, I suppose it would.' It would take some time, a few hours, more than one, fewer than twenty. His face was hard planes and angles in dancing light and shadow, his eyes opaque as jade. The mighty Elf lord, feared, respected, loved, she had once delighted in the idea of bringing this proud being to his knees for love of her. Her body still flooded with shame at the memory. Shame and a hint of melancholy. In the end his pride had been stronger than his desire: she had left him and he had allowed her to leave; had he said one word, the right word, to call her back, no, beg her back- And then what? She would have had her triumph and they would have destroyed each other. She shivered. He took the blanket from her hands with an irritable snort, wrapped it around her.

'After having dragged you out of that pond, I'd prefer it if you didn't freeze to death in your own damn bedroom.' There was an edge of gentleness to his tone that cut her deeper than any knife. His hands rested on her shoulders, their warm weight soothing the tensed muscles beneath. 'Did you find Sarah?'

'Yes. I saw-' Another shiver, one that no warmth could cure. 'It was awful.' She allowed herself a luxury without thinking of it. She rested her cheek against his chest, breathing in the scent of him that had always reminded her of the spice trees in the mountains above the summer residence at Ber-el-Djehir. His hands moved from her shoulders; she felt them lightly against her hair, barely stirring the fine strands. His heart hammered in his chest against her ear. It would take so very little, just to turn her face and press her lips against his skin. His hands still hovered in the air behind her head, still not touching her. She let out a breath, straightened, looked up at him again.

'How's Toby? I think I frightened him.'

His face was taut, then unbent slightly. 'You did. And he's not the only one.'

Her eyes lowered. 'I know. I'm sorry.'

'Yes, well... The boy is fine.' His hands were at his sides again. Delaine held her blanket around her. 'I- You should get some sleep.'

Her chin lifted. 'I've been asleep.'

Rajad shifted restlessly. 'You've been- You should rest.'

'I don't need it. I am hungry, though. And so are you.'

One heavy eyebrow arched. 'Oh, am I? You know this?'

'I know you.'

They watched each other. A complex series of unnamed emotions rippled across his face, a struggle that he mastered. 'Come on, there must be something in the kitchens that we can eat.'

He offered her an arm to lean on and she took it.

* * *

_It was one of those perfect late-summer days in which the Underground seemed to specialise: deep blue skies; a balmy breeze fresh enough to relieve the heat of the sun; air heavy with honeysuckle and jasmine and the hundreds of plants that Sarah could never name; birdsong and peace._

_The oddity was her companion as they sprawled on the grass under the shade of a willow. Sarah was, slowly, becoming accustomed to the fact that creatures of myth truly inhabited these lands, but sometimes being confronted with their existence came as a surprise. Names she thought to be the invention of mortals even more imaginative than herself were revealed to belong to immortals, far more powerful and incredible than any fictional rendering._

_Sarah again glanced from beneath her lashes at the woman reclining beside her: Titania, the Fairy Queen. Her beauty was extraordinary - wonderful and terrible. She shimmered, Sarah's eyes never quite able to focus on her, to capture her edges. Insubstantial and overwhelming. Sarah recalled the cavalier treatment of Titania's subjects at Hoggle's hands and wondered that the Fairy Queen, this being of power and wonder far older than the Goblin King, should stand for it._

_'Inconsequential creatures,' Titania stated imperiously, a dismissive hand waved, in response to Sarah's cautious query._

_Terrible indeed._

_Where Titania was air and fire, Oberon was very much of the earth. A muscular being, black haired and carrying with him the scent of wood-smoke, leaves and freshly-turned soil. Sarah watched where he stood beside Jareth and could not imagine two beings more different in appearance or manner. Oberon was not the creature of fairy-tale, but then neither was Jareth. In the years that marked their separation she had thought of him as a glittering, slightly whimsical being - a watered down version of the dangerous reality. The glitter that surrounded him was hard, searing, his moods mercurial, his nature wild beneath that smooth, mocking exterior. He was her greatest adventure. Sarah turned back from them and found that she was the subject of Titania's scrutiny._

_'It has been a long time,' she said in that voice like the rush of the breeze through summer leaves, 'since a mortal has been bound so strongly to one of our realms.'_

_'It used to happen more often?' Oberon and his conquests, she thought - according to Shakespeare. Sarah dared not ask how much veracity lay in that tale._

_'Yes, but that was long ago. It became ... difficult.'_

_Sarah nodded sadly. 'Yeah, we all got too rational. Everyone stopped believing in magic.'_

_Titania laughed slightly. 'There was that, but that isn't what I meant. All love is difficult, but the love between a mortal and an immortal has its own difficulties. You do not love as we do.'_

_Sarah looked at her. 'I'm not like other mortals.'_

* * *

For four nights and four days Sarah was kept in confinement; although, for the first two she was unaware of this. A sleep, dark and unfathomably deep, had claimed her and when she did awaken it was slow, a struggle. Her head felt leaden, her body one aching mass. Late afternoon when she had woken, she guessed, judging by the reddened rays marking their passage across the floor.

She lay, coaxing her limbs into co-ordinated motion and while she waited for them to comply she listened and heard nothing except for the whistle of a prevailing wind. No footsteps beyond the walls of her room, no voices. Just a stone-clad silence and the wind.

When she did, at last, ease herself from her bed she investigated the room. Small, sparse but not uncomfortable. Stone floor covered with rugs, stone walls covered with dark hangings. Sarah examined them, unable to make sense of the twisted threads and what they depicted. She stood further back, almost pressed against the opposite wall and made out a scene of carnage, a battle of particular bloodiness. She shivered. A large chair, its wood almost black, smooth and gleaming. She ran her fingers over the frame, marvelled at the fineness of the grain. Had it always been so or was that a result of many years and countless hands tracing the same path as hers? A bed, a washbasin, little else.

Her clothes had been taken and a dress left for her. Loose, all but shapeless, covering her to her feet. She pulled it on, tied the sash around her waist and noted how much weight she had lost. It was merely an observation, not a point of any real interest.

She waited.

When the door to what she had come to think of as her cell rattled and started to open, her relief was as much from the hope of seeing another living being as gaining some answers regarding both her location and her captivity. The sun had faded, leaving her small quarters in deep shades of grey and blue; the door opened and light came with it, a pair of candles along with the tray of food. They chased the shadows to the corners, bringing an illusion of warmth. The figure bearing it was small and strange and Sarah experienced a moment's familiarity, until it drew closer and then it was wholly alien to her. In stature and in the walnut brown of its skin the creature was like a Goblin, but there the resemblance ended. The skin of its face so smooth it looked stretched over the skull beneath, wide eyes too large and pale to be attractive, hairless. Reptilian, she thought, and felt an instinctive repugnance.

But to win her freedom, friendliness with her jailer might be required.

'Hello,' she said and forced a smile.

The creature darted a look at her, gripping the tray. It set it slowly on the only table, keeping its eyes, unblinking, on her.

'I'm Sarah; what's your name?'

It uttered a string of harsh guttural noises that she realised tardily was a language.

'I'm sorry, I don't underst- No. No, please don't go. Don't leave me here!'

Too late to catch it. She beat her fist helplessly against the solid wood door. It too was of the same strangely fine-textured timber, its surface so highly polished she could see her reflection in it. Pale face, serious eyes that looked haunted in the sheen of dark wood.

Sarah completed a circuit of the room, came to a stop by the table, inspected the contents of the tray. Meat of some kind, vegetable of an even stranger kind, bread, fruits, wine. She turned away from it, made for the narrow aperture that served as a window; the walls were a good two foot thick, judging by the depth of the window embrasure. The glass itself was smoky and heavily barred. She should not, she told herself fiercely, partake of food when she didn't know its source. But the knowledge of it there, so close, brought the stab of hunger she had been trying to ignore for some time. She took another tour of the room, sat down in the hard chair. A little bread, at least, could do no harm. Perhaps a little of the fruit-

She pulled her hand back.

No, not the fruit.

The bread took the edge off her hunger, but no more. She tested the meat, felt no ill effects. By the time she was halfway through she was thirsty and poured the wine. Her jailers were generous at least. But how, she wondered suddenly, had they known she was awake to enjoy it? Sarah pushed the plate away, peered about suspiciously and could not shake off the feeling of being watched by unseen eyes.

She had not intended to sleep, had merely curled herself on the bed seeking more comfort than her chair offered, but was woken by the sun in her eyes and the delicate clink as a new tray was deposited and her odd little waiter took away the one from the night before. She called out, started up towards it but it fled through the door. Which closed with a resounding thud. The creature feared her, she thought, and the thought seemed ridiculous.

By the time of the next meal, the next entry, Sarah had formed a plan. While the trays were swapped she darted behind the gaze of the bulbous eyes, towards the open door. Her path was barred by two large guards in sleek armour that hid every part of their bodies and danced fiercely bright under the torches that illumined the corridor. Sarah retreated. Another hissed string of incomprehensible words were thrown at her and the servant-creature edged away from her, out of the room.

In all of her imaginings as a child, and in all of her experiences as a woman, Sarah had never desired to be the maiden in the tower. That role, however, was now forced upon her and she practised patience with the constant whine of the wind for company. She waited.

On the evening of the forth day they came for her.

* * *

Beyond the confines of the palace were groves, wild trees heavy with fruit, interspersed with land that had been tamed and mastered by the Sisters. Crops grew in neat rows. Beyond that the white-crested sea and further out yet the flat line of the horizon.

And beyond that...

His own lands, his people, his home, and her.

The breeze through the high window embrasure brought warm scents of rain and earth and flowers and sometimes, fleetingly, something he knew but could not quite grasp, something almost tangible.

There were figures working the land below, the air carrying fragments of their song back to him. He blocked it out; he did not need its distraction. He remembered the smooth flow of his quill over her skin, her laughter, the love he had poured into the words he had conjured for her. He could not remember the melody.

But another, older, also for her, had come back to him. Not in its entirety but enough. He had no wings to ride the currents that would take him back to her, but their song, for a time in his imaginings at least, could.


	15. Of Darkness and Disgrace

Sarah was led through corridors more disorientating than any maze. Long galleries of stone polished like marble, and mirror. Reflection bounced off reflection, her own face, her figure, greeting her with every turn, every glance. The thought came to her that they were simply marching down the same corridor over and over, waiting until madness claimed her, if it hadn't already. She laughed slightly at that, the noise bubbling up silently so that her shoulders shook with it. And stopped abruptly when they came to the doors, massive slabs of that same dark wood, banded with silver that gleamed like the armour of the guards either side of it. They opened slowly, swinging inward with a sickening absence of sound. The small cavalcade moved forward, Sarah's feet uncertain and unwilling but still taking her onward.

It was a gloomy place, cloaked in shadow and silence. Light from the raised dais at the far end, torches that flickered and smoked, sending wisps of grey up into the air. The hall smelt of the cold, of smoke and bitter blossoms. They reached the end of the hall and Sarah's steps faltered as they drew to a halt, staring at the beings who regarded her calmly from their elevated seat. An order was barked in that guttural tongue, then something hard - the end of a spear, perhaps - landed in the small of her back, sending her to her knees. The stone floor was frigid, its iciness seeping through the flimsy fabric of her dress. She raised her head, peering upwards.

A King, a Queen, both pale and beautiful, both seated on thrones that held the dark glint of iron. Beside the king a tall figure, grim, eyes like chips of coal in a lined face, the grey hair cut close against the skull. He held a wizard's power, unyielding and immutable. The Dwarf stood beside the Queen, a small but regal figure with a wild, twisted face and his crown of iron matched the thrones of his masters.

But it was the fox that approached her, swarming elegantly down the steps from the dais, paws light and silent on the stone. The sleek silver coat gleamed, yellow eyes burned and she sensed its contained wildness. This was not a creature to walk on its hind legs, to clothe itself as other races that were not its own did, to pepper its speech with flowery obeisances - should it deign to talk at all. It bared its teeth at her, sniffed her delicately. A voice came, quicksilver smoothing harsh edges of that strange language. The pale eyes studied her, penetrating her. Sarah shook her head.

'I don't understand.'

The tail twitched with impatience.

The man with the black fire in his eyes swept down towards her; she was reminded of a great crow in flight, instinctively recoiled, scrambling backwards, her hands slipping over the polished floor. He took her head between his hands, his fingers digging into flesh; Sarah tried to pull herself away but the grasp was too hard. Her hearing dulled, a roaring sound like she was heading over the falls again and she felt the responding flicker of panic at the memory. He released her so suddenly she fell back again, shaking her head to clear it.

'Now do you hear?'

The words were heavily accented; Sarah stared up at him in shock and indignation. 'I could hear before, I just couldn't understand.'

He turned from her, the edges of his cloak catching her face.

'You are mortal,' said Silverfox, the quiet silk of his voice brushing against her ears. She shivered.

'Yes.'

'That was not a question. How did you come here? What do you want in our lands?'

'I-' Sarah righted herself, started to stand. Silverfox showed his teeth again, hackles on the back of his neck standing up. She lowered herself, resumed her crouch. 'I want- I seek passage.'

'To where?'

'The Amaranthine Realms.'

The answer was not greeted with the ridicule she had expected. The figures on the dais remained motionless; the fox's gaze was unwavering.

'Why? Why would one of your kind go there?'

'I'm looking for someone. He was taken there and he shouldn't have been, I'm going so I bring him home.'

Her story came out, all of it, under a barrage of questions, more an interrogation, with Silverfox prowling around her. It seemed such a small thing that she asked, so inconsequential to them and everything to her: if there were a portal that she be taken to it. She would be on her way, away from their lands. She turned appealing eyes to the pair of seated figures.

'Please-'

'Do not address them!' Silverfox's level tones turned to a snarl. She ignored him. Their kingdom seemed no more splendid, their majesty no greater than those of any other. Why should she not appeal to them, speak to them, when the great Elf lords and Dwarven kings, when Titania and Oberon, were among her acquaintances? She would be respectful, she would be humble, if they so wished, but she would not be deterred.

'Your Majesties, I'm not asking for much-'

'Silence!'

'-I've already passed through three portals, there can only be one more-'

A heavy blow struck her, claws raking her cheek. She fell sideways, clutched at her face and felt the sticky ooze of blood. A little breathless but not quite winded.

'Just one more; I'm sure of it. Please.'

So close. She was certain that she was so close, it had become the one thought to sustain her through the long hours of her confinement. She did not allow herself the idea that her carefully worked-out assumptions were wrong. She was so close.

'I don't want anything from you, just tell me where to go. Please.'

The Dwarf and the Wizard stood together, speaking into the ear of the King, their words so low Sarah could not catch them; she looked at the motionless figure beside them, the Queen, with her dark hair that shone even in the dim light and her great clear eyes, gazing remotely over the hall. She didn't look at Sarah, had not done for the duration of this strange little interview, as though what was being played out was beneath her notice. Her indifference was too studied.

Silverfox circled her again, then padded softly up the steps to the group of murmurings; she could hear the silk of his voice threading through the conversation, though she could still not hear the words. She eased herself up to kneel again, bracing her hands against the floor. Her cheek throbbed, the air stinging the raw skin. More movement from the dais, this time the King himself in a flurry of heavy robes. He had the face of an aesthete, high cheekbones, long fine lines, features that were sculpted with strength and delicacy and white as bone. Like his wife, his hair was as dark as the shadows that lurked in the corners of his great hall, but his eyes-

Sarah blinked, looked up at him again.

They were a curious shade of grey-green but they were not the mismatched shades she had taken them for, not the ones she knew so well. He caught her chin in his hand, forced her head back, examined her face.

'She is strong.'

'Yes,' said Silverfox, 'and she is fertile.'

'Good. Very good.'

He let go of her. Over his shoulder Sarah saw the face of the Queen, saw it quiver, twist, then compose again.

'Take her to the tower.'

'Hey, wait a minute-'

Hands grabbed her, hauling her upwards and propelling her away from the gathered court. She tried to wrench free but was held fast; she tried to stop their progress, turning her body to a dead-weight but they pulled at her harder, dragging her across the floor. She called out but the ears that heard her chose to ignore her cries. They passed through the portico and the great doors fell to behind them.

* * *

The embrasure of the high arched window had become his refuge, his pretence at normality. The view was different from those from his own castle, but not unpleasant- He did not permit himself such thoughts. When the two white-clad figures entered the room, evidently determined on conversation, Jareth sighed, unfolded himself, dropped lightly from the ledge down to the stone floor.

'The Lady Mírthíêl requests your company at dinner,' the smaller of the two informed him, her voice high and clipped. His head tilted.

'Does she now?'

The taller one moved some paces away, laying out clothes that would be deemed more appropriate for such an occasion.

'You should not go,' Tiéra hissed at him.

'And refuse such an attractive invitation? My, my, what an ungrateful guest that would make me.' He could feel her staring at him.

'I thought you wished to leave this place.'

'What makes you think I've changed my mind?'

'But you- She always gets her way.'

'Ah.' He smiled slightly. 'It can be beneficial to lose once in a while. Character building. Besides, I've been known to have my own way from time to time; I'll wager that my will-'

A pause.

'Yes?'

'My will is as strong as hers.

And my kingdom... He closed his eyes. My kingdom.

From beneath Tiéra's veils there came a sniff.

He dressed in the clothes that had been given him. No gloves. There was, of course, no need for them here but he felt strangely naked without them. He was flanked by his two escorts, following the same route Tiéra had shown him all those nights ago, how many he was not certain. Time, the thing he had known so well, had been aware of so intimately, had become alien, something of which he was only vaguely aware and which he found increasingly incomprehensible.

The route through the palace seemed shorter than it had the last time, though it was the same one; Jareth recognised the vaulted halls, the corridor where they had hidden from two of the Sisters, the long gallery with its mirrors and stained glass. The brilliant colours caught the light, painting the floor and walls with dancing dots in shades of aqua and lapis and splashes of red. The breeze that played with his hair and stirred the gauzy habits of his companions was still balmy, still heady with a floral scent. Down the steps to the amphitheatre and this time the table had been set for two. Glassware glinted under candlelight and the rays of the setting sun; fresh flowers stood in a vase, not skilfully arranged but haphazard and beautiful.

From her seat, Mírthíêl rose to greet him, not in her usual white but a clinging gown the same ice-blue as her eyes. No jewels save the fine gold chain around her neck, and what it held hidden beneath the folds across her bosom. She was exquisite, he thought, perfect as a marble statue and as warm. Or perhaps not: there was fire behind the ice. It would be a challenge to bring that to the fore, but something worth seeing - the razing of her frozen hauteur.

She stretched out one hand to him, the length of her arm cool and white and supple. He bowed over her hand, pressing her fingers to his lips and watching the flicker in her eyes.

* * *

The room she was taken to was larger than the first, its furnishings more plentiful. Grander. Wood panelled walls, thick carpeting, tables and shelves that held strange ornaments of a uniquely awful beauty. Large windows-

Sarah crossed to one, found she could open it, leaned out and peered into the gathering evening gloom hopefully. Sheer walls of stone as dark as the wood they seemed so fond of in this place and a drop down so far she couldn't see the bottom. The wind still howled, desolate, the keening cry of a lonely soul seeking comfort. Sarah shivered, closed the window. For over an hour she prowled the room, nervous energy jangling through her body, unable to rest. When the door to her latest cell - she could think of it in no other terms - finally opened it was to admit another of those strange little creatures, this one carrying a bundle, and the Queen herself.

'What the hell is going on here?' Sarah demanded.

'People usually bow before me.' The reply was icy.

Sarah took in a breath, deep, held it, held her head high and dipped her body slightly in the sort of curtsey she had, occasionally, performed on stage. Grey eyes held grey eyes. The Queen's mouth tightened.

The little servant unfolded its bundle, laying out across the bed a dress of embroidered silk and brocade.

'Leave us.' A peremptory order. The creature started, bowed low to its mistress, fled the room silently.

'I want to know what's going on here,' Sarah said, holding herself erect.

'It is very simple. You have been chosen for a great honour; you will bear the child who will be the heir to this kingdom.'

Sarah stared at her, disbelief rendering her silent; for those moments she was numb. When the feeling swept in again she did not rage, did not weep, did not give in to nausea or fear. She laughed.

'You find this funny?'

Sarah braced herself against the back of a chair, her body shaking; she wiped the tears from her cheeks, tried to speak between gasps.

'Sorry, it's... I think it's ... it's hysteria.'

'How dare you laugh at me!'

'What did you expect?' Another wave overtook her, doubling her over; she dragged air into her lungs. 'You- You're expecting me to- To be, what, a brood mare?' As suddenly as it had come it stopped; Sarah straightened, sobered. 'You're right, it isn't funny. It's pretty goddamn sick. How can you just go along with this?'

It was like addressing a block of ice, Sarah thought as she looked at the haughty, guarded face. And just like ice, when you looked deeply enough you could see the cracks at the heart. The lovely head, held so proudly, so high, turned slightly.

'Go along with?'

'Well, you're bringing the dress that I'm ... what? Supposed to seduce your husband in?' Two points of colour appeared in the other woman's face. 'And what makes you, any of you, think that I'll just go along with it, huh?'

'You have little choice.'

'Oh, I see - I'm supposed to be grateful that I'll be raped by a king?'

The flare of coloured deepened. 'Raped?'

'What would you call it?'

'As I said, you have been honoured-'

'That's crap.' Her voice rose, sharpened. 'There's no honour here, we both know that.' They stared at each other. The memory of her grief, the ragged knot she had carried with her, that had kept her bound to her quest, rose up, threatening to subsume her beneath its waves. 'He's your husband, how can you stand this?'

'I can bear him no children,' she hissed, her face suddenly, and uncomfortably, close to Sarah's. 'Have you any idea how shameful that is?'

Sarah watched her levelly. 'I'm sorry for that, but that doesn't make this right. Can't you see that?'

The Queen retreated again, her hands clasped together in front of her. The knuckles showed white. 'Our lands are dying. I will do what I must.'

'Oh. Well, that makes it okay, then. What's supposed to happen to me after I have this kid?

'You will be remembered as a great heroine of our kingdom.'

'Just what I always wanted,' she said sourly.

'If you fight it will only make it worse.'

Sarah's hands balled at her sides in fists. 'You know, I keep hearing that phrase. And maybe sometimes it's even right, but not this time. I'd sooner thrown myself from that window.'

The clear gaze turned scornful. 'Don't be ridiculous.'

Sarah lifted her chin. 'You think I wouldn't do it?'

'You want too badly to live - unless everything you told us earlier was a lie.'

'It's all true!'

She smiled slightly. 'As I say, you want to live.'

'Trust me, the only reason I'm here is because I want to find Jareth.'

'Or die trying?' The mockery in her voice made Sarah want to tear the woman's eyes out. She restrained herself, her nails biting into the palms of her hands. The cool eyes wandered over Sarah's face. 'I'd pity you, if I thought you worthy of it.'

Sarah's eyebrows raised. 'You'd pity me? I'm not the one who's been sent by her husband to get some girl ready so he can screw her.'

The slap was heavy, sent her head ringing. She staggered under the force. Sarah righted herself again, met the eyes that had turned as bright and hard as polished steel. She could feel the cuts across her cheek open again, feel the sticky, sickening ooze start again. She did not press her hand against it to staunch the blood, to lessen the pain. 'It's not like I planned to be here.'

'Why are you here?'

Sarah blinked. 'I told you, I'm looking for someone.'

'Your great love.'

'Yes.'

'And he is a Fae - the Goblin King of the Underground.'

'Yes.'

'Tell me, even if you manage to find your' -her fingers fluttered through the air, dismissive- 'immortal beloved, what makes you think he will want to return with you?'

'We love each other,' she replied, without pausing to think of the answer. Or the question.

Her lips twisted into a sneer. 'Love. Vastly overrated, I find. I would have thought that with the life-span of mortals being so short you'd be less naïve.' The Queen paused, tilted her head again, looking at Sarah closely. 'The passage of your life is no more to him than a butterfly's is to you. And once he has passed beyond the confines of his owns lands he will have forgotten that which once bound him. However briefly. You cannot hope to understand.'

'I am not like other mortals.'

'Oh?'

'I love as immortals do.'

There was a frown of puzzlement - genuine puzzlement. 'And how is that?'

'For eternity.'

The Queen stared at her, then a spasm twisted her lips. Her laughter was hollow, a brittle sound. 'Oh, I see - you have heard of the old story, that an immortal, a Fae, does not love easily but that when they do it lasts forever. I remember when I believed that. It isn't true.' Her face was once again an implacable mask. She crossed to the door, opened it, paused. 'Well, Sarah, you followed your great love. And here you are. Let it be a lesson to you.'

* * *

They followed the pathway along the top of the cliffs, looking out over the white-crested waves and up at the great moon that hung, golden and bloated, in the sky. The air was heavily scented, flowers offering their perfume to the coolness of the night.

'So, there it is - my lands are not as extensive as yours were but they are happily situated.' Her hand rested lightly in the crook of his arm.

'They are.' His gaze rested on the full face of the moon, low on the horizon, seeming far closer than any he had seen before. The clarity of its light picked out the details of their surroundings with precision: the intricate carvings on the remnants of wall that bordered the path; the pale heads of flowers quivering in the breeze; the fine profile of Mírthíêl, the pale column of her neck curving down to the soft folds of her dress. 'And you are fortunate in your companions here.'

Her head turned sharply. 'Oh?'

He smiled at her. 'They're quiet. They don't appear to have an inordinate and, quite frankly, slightly disturbing affection for chickens.' His smile widened, his tone playful. 'In other words, they in no way resemble Goblins.'

'Ah.' She laughed. The platinum sheet of her hair rippled as she leaned into him slightly. 'You don't miss them.'

'I've given them little thought.'

They walked in silence. She detached herself from him, stepping off the path, crossing the grass to run her hands through the sweet heads of a climbing plant that had twined itself around the carved uprights of a collapsed arch. She caught the scent on her fingers, breathing it in, took the few steps back to where he stood in the moonlight. His eyes followed the sway of her body, its lines and gentle curves.

'It's late,' he said.

She smiled. 'Is it? Time... Such an inconsequential thing.'

'I was always taught it was something to respect,' he said shortly.

Her smiled faltered; her eyes dropped momentarily then rose to meet his. 'Of course.' Self-deprecating, submissive. 'And you're right, it has grown late.'

'You've been a lone for so very long, haven't you?' he said softly, his voice crooning, comforting; she shivered at its rough velvet. Mírthíêl took his arm again, settling into the new-found familiarity of it.

* * *

The dress lay across the bed, untouched.

She had wandered to the window, more than once, each time peering out, down into the gorge whose dimensions were now lost entirely in deep shadow. It was a long way down.

And it had, she admitted grudgingly, been a stupidly melodramatic thing to say. Not entirely without truth; the fresh and insidious horror of her current situation was a thought she pulled away from.

She paced the floor, a new habit.

She had come so far and had achieved precisely nothing.

When the now-familiar jangle of the lock sounded she regarded it wearily, warily, then straightened when she saw her visitor.

The Queen, in all her splendour, stood with her back pressed flat against the door, an ornate flagon clutched to her chest. Sarah regarded her, deciding that she would not be the one to speak first. It was a small ambition, a petty one, but it was hers. And in the end it was the other woman who broke the silence.

'When he comes, give him this. It's his favourite, he'll drink it. He'll drink a lot of it, just make sure that you don't.'

Sarah frowned. 'What is it?'

She blew out an impatient breath. 'A sleeping draught. When he is asleep, tap at the door. I'll take you to the portal.'

'Take me now.'

She shook her head. 'I cannot. There are too many eyes-' Her head turned, listening. When she continued her voice was lower. 'Later. It will take me some time for me to arrange things, the guards...' One corner of her mouth turned up. With that sardonic smile, Sarah thought, she looked almost human. 'You see? Even in my own house I cannot truly be mistress. All you need to do is play a part for a little while.'

'I can do that.'

Performance had once been her life, one of things by which she had defined herself. Strange that the thought of it should now feel so alien to her.

The flagon was placed on a table; the rustle of silk accompanied the Queen back across the room.

'Why are you doing this?'

One hand on the doorknob, she turned. 'For eternal love.'

'You don't believe in that.'

'No,' she said simply, 'but you do.'


	16. Dead Man Walking

The thin layer of cloud that had shrouded the Labyrinth in gloomy drizzle all day had broken in the late afternoon, giving way to a fine evening and a night of clear dark skies. High up on the ramparts a layer of frost was developing, keen air made sharper by the wind that blew in from the East. Toby shivered, drew his coat closer, yawned widely and frowned at the chart he was failing to make. Inclinations, declinations... He chewed on the end of his pencil, teeth biting into the soft wood. The cold was making his nose run. He fumbled through his pockets for a tissue, didn't find one, wiped his nose on his sleeve instead and glanced guiltily at Ambrosius.

The wizard's fierce face was turned skyward, oblivious to his young charge's misdemeanour. A dark shape, like a great crow, against the stars. He leant on his staff, no movement except for his eyes and they wandered restlessly. Toby uncurled himself from his corner, his legs stiff with cold and his earlier session with Rajad.

'Hey.' No response. He tugged at Ambrosius' robes. 'Hey.'

'Well? How is your chart?'

'Er... It's...' Toby squinted at it. 'It's not.'

'Ah.'

'I wanted to ask something.'

A pause.

'Yes?'

'Can the stars really tell you stuff?'

'They are not capable of speech.'

The little boy scowled. 'That's not what I meant.' There was the faint twitching of Ambrosius' face that signified amusement. 'I mean, can you, y'know, tell the future?'

'Ah. Now, there is a question.'

There was more silence. Toby sniffed loudly, wiped his nose on his cuff again.

'Look up, Toby,' Ambrosius said after a while. 'What do you see?'

Toby stared heavenward. The constellations he was slowly beginning to learn mapped out across the backdrop of night, suggesting paths he couldn't begin to follow. They returned his gaze, cold as crystal and shining hard.

'What do you see?'

'Stars,' he said eventually, unhappily.

'And what else?'

Toby turned his gaze down to his feet, examined the scuffed toe of his left shoe. 'I dunno.'

The sorcerer blew out a breath lightly. 'Neither do I.' He looked down at Toby, at the boy's surprised, bewildered expression and smiled slightly. 'The future is not written, not definitely - its variables are infinite. It is not something that can simply be read, not in any medium. There are signs and portents, some come to pass and others do not and there is no way of telling which shall be.'

'So you don't know when they're coming back.'

'No.'

Toby's gaze transferred, miserably, to the toe of his right shoe. 'You don't even know if they are.'

'No.'

He screwed up his eyes. Like Jareth, Ambrosius would neither placate nor patronise him. It used to be something he liked about them. He heard his name said softly and felt Ambrosius' hand on his shoulder. He tried to shrug it off but it remained, warm and heavy, and he kept his eyes shut. When the earth tremor started he felt the grip tighten and was glad of it. They had become accustomed, all the residents of the Underground, to the intermittent shifting, deep in the earth, that rocked everything. A few seconds and then over and everyone would exchange relieved glances and then carry on. But this was not a few seconds. The stones of the castle groaned horribly, grinding against each other as the shaking continued.

Toby burrowed further into Ambrosius' embrace, feeling the heavy folds of the old man's cloak fall around them both. The faint scents of wool and leather and spice. It reminded him of his father and he missed him, suddenly, fiercely, so deeply it hurt. Everybody left him. Everything he cared for and understood was gone, and it wasn't fair.

Still the world shook, he could feel it shaking him until he was sure he would come apart and simply float away. The noise grew louder, creaking, cracking, a growing roar and then the crash of stone.

Slowly it all subsided, the world righting itself again. Still muffled in Ambrosius' arms his head rang with the fast beats of his own heart. Toby emerged from his dark cocoon. A mass of rubble and ice that had once formed part of the battlements lay smashed across the ramparts and he thought of that other rock fall, that open wound down in the Labyrinth that still had not been repaired and would probably never be fully healed. He sniffed, wiped his nose.

'Here.' Ambrosius handed him a handkerchief.

'I'm not crying!'

The sorcerer studied the child's tear-stained face. 'I know,' he said gently.

* * *

The woman in the mirror was arrayed in finery befitting a noblewoman. Or a courtesan, she thought grimly. The deep crimsons and flashes of gold in the silk and brocade suited her colouring; the costume would have delighted her, once - but that was all it was, a costume. And she was too old to play dress-up. She had submitted to the attendants who had come to dress her, their hard little hands smoothing and twisting her hair. Her fingers touched the gleaming dark locks, now restored to their customary satin lustre. The sensation of it had become utterly unfamiliar.

It was a part to play, she thought, just a part. No matter what happened, it would really be happening to someone else. It would happen to the woman in the mirror with the grand gown and the dressed hair and the painted face. The stain on her lips and cheeks looked garish against the pallor of her skin.

The air was laced with the scent of amber. Something she would have once found pleasant but now it was cloying; she breathed it in and her stomach contracted, fluttering higher up than it should have, thrumming behind her ribcage. She sat on the bed, gripping its edge hard, the silk coverings bunching under her hands.

When the rattle of the lock sounded she rose; she did not smile; too much enthusiasm would be suspicious - not something that she had really needed to be told but she had accepted the advice from the Queen and her taut white face without murmur.

Silverfox circled her, sniffing her scent, his coat brushing against her gown's heavy brocade. Sarah remained still. It was not happening to her. She looked down at the pale eyes regarding her and shivered.

'Leave us.'

The King had not approached her. He stood on the other side of the room, still near the doorway, filling the space with the effortless arrogance of one accustomed to getting his own way. His clothes were dark, hanging on him like smoke and shadow. Silverfox padded past him, paws noiseless. The door closed behind him and they were alone.

Sarah stood, her hands clasped in front of her; she pushed down the bile that coated the back of her throat.

'You should be comfortable here,' he said, his voice disinterested. His gaze took in the room, took in her, lingered on her for a while, moved on.

'Yes.'

'What is your name again?'

'Sarah.'

He repeated it, playing with it, dropping the syllables with a cadence she found particularly unpleasant. 'Unusual. A pretty name.' He looked at her. 'You are quite beautiful.'

'Thank you.'

If he touched her, she thought calmly, she would scream and she wouldn't be able to stop herself.

She crossed to the low table and poured some of the liquid from the flagon into a glass; her hands shook. She took a few steps, held it out to him with a smile. 'Would you care for a drink?'

He offered her a smile of his own, more a showing of teeth. 'How charming.' He took it from her, tossed it down. She poured out another and he took it.

Her own mouth was dry. She moistened her lips; they felt like paper.

He did not enquire, she noticed, as to why she did not drink; no doubt he had never been in the habit of caring for what other people did. He was a tall man, his limbs long and lean and he moved with a strange grace, sharp movements that had been softened, like a blade that has been muffled in velvet.

Another drink.

He sat on the bed, leaning back expansively and his cool green eyes took her in again. He held out a hand to her. 'Come here.' There was a purring edge to it.

Sarah hesitated, took a breath, felt it catch behind her ribs, released it, took the few steps, put her hand into his. He pulled her to sit down next to him. He smelt of winter cold. He examined her hand, his fingers exploring the smooth skin on the back, touching the roughened patches on her fingers.

'Strange, part lady part peasant.' He said it as though thinking aloud. He released her hand, laid the backs of his fingers against her cheek. 'So very beautiful. And you have my gratitude, Sarah - but the task is not such an unpleasant one, is it? I can make it pleasant for you, very pleasant. And I would wish to.' His hand turned, cupping her cheek, sliding down the curve to her neck. 'Your skin is so warm. I need your warmth, and your light; I have not seen such light in anyone's eyes, not for many long years. Warmth and light.' He let out a long shuddering breath, laid his head on her shoulder. 'You are everything that I need.' His other arm around her waist, pulling her to him. She could feel his breath against her skin. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands, her body coiled, tense, ready to snap.

'My poor barren Queen,' he murmured, the words starting to slur. 'She, too, is beautiful, but she is cold and empty, like our lands. You will bring us life again, Sarah; you will bring me life.' His hand at her throat, then down again, fingers sliding below the collar of her dress. She could feel his fingernails scrape against her and she flinched, gritted her teeth. And despised the hot prickling behind her eyes.

It was not happening to her. It was not her body that he held so tightly; it was not her neck that he pressed his lips against; it was not the swell of her breast that his fingers touched.

He pressed her down on the bed, his weight heavy on her, his head still cushioned on her shoulder. She did not move; Sarah stared at the ceiling, her hands balled into fists either side of her head. He was saying something she could not hear, she would not hear. And she would not feel.

She imagined herself anywhere, in the Underground-

No, no, no, not there. Not where Jareth had been, not where we were so happy. It hurts too much. It all hurts.

He had promised her, once. Too many promises and so many that were impossible to keep, even with the best of intentions.

The breath against her neck was slow, heavy. It sounded stertorous. Sarah moved cautiously, pushing at heavy limbs that pinned her down, inching her way across the bed until she was free. Almost free. Her skirts were still trapped; she gathered the excess fabric in her arms, tugged it from under his inert body. His face was mashed into the rumpled covering, black hair falling across his forehead. There was weakness now in the lines of his slack face, all his studied strength gone. A wave of revulsion shivered through her, needling down her spine. She turned her back on him, crossed to the door and tapped on it lightly. She held her breath, heard nothing, started and then sprang back when the door started to open.

The Queen slipped inside. Her eyes strayed to the figure sprawled across the bed, fingers still flexed from holding what had slipped away from him. The hollow at the base of her throat fluttered. She turned to Sarah, held out a dark, dusty bundle - cotton and leather and a flash of midnight blue. For a moment Sarah wanted to bury her face in the shimmering cloth, discover if it still held the traces of his scent. She did not. She changed quickly, grateful to rid herself of that glamorous, gorgeous gown; she tore at her hair savagely, pins scattering across the floor, dragged it back into a rough ponytail and tied it tight.

'We must move quickly. And stay quiet,' the Queen told her; she held herself very erect, shoulders braced against the world.

Sarah nodded and followed her out of the room.

* * *

She experienced a stab of annoyance when her summons did not bring him instantly to her side. But, like her, he was accustomed to rule, to command; it would not be easy to bend to the will of another. Mírthíêl was prepared to indulge him this, for a while at least. If it kept him happy to believe in his power over her, then she would permit the caprice but for no longer than it pleased her. Eventually he would cede his pride to her greater strength and she enjoyed the thought of it: to possess such a creature as the Goblin King had once been.

When she saw the tall figure descend the steps from the cliff down to the amphitheatre she felt the first thrill of triumph. He had kept her waiting but soon, very soon, he would not be able to bear being parted from her. Then he would do anything she wished and then-

She smiled to herself and felt another thrill, of anticipation this time and one laced with desire.

He moved with the languid grace of a great cat, winter-blond hair wild and glinting under the fingers of sunlight. He was a being of moonlight and night stars, seemingly unaffected by the heat of the day. He came to her and brought the coolness of the evening; but when he took her hands in his his skin was warm. He raised her hand, first one then the other, to his lips, kept his eyes on her face.

'Forgive my lateness.'

His contrition was insincere, blatantly so, but she was prepared to overlook that. 'It is forgiven.'

He smiled slightly, released one of her hands and pulled the other through the crook of his arm. He was hers, she thought with satisfaction, even if he preferred to think the ownership was his, but she knew the truth. In the end it had been almost too easy; but then, her charms were powerful: mightier beings than even the Goblin King himself - rare though they were - had been unable to withstand her.

They stood together, eyes on the sea shimmering under the sunlight's kiss. By unspoken agreement they took a turn around the semi-circle of the amphitheatre.

'I seem to be alone in the cloisters lately,' he remarked after some little time had passed. 'All of your other guests have departed. I hadn't realised that my recovery was so slow.'

'You feel better?'

His gaze wandered over, slow. 'Very much so.'

When his eyes returned to hers she held them; coyness befitted neither her status nor her dignity. And they had reached a point where a certain amount of game-playing could be ended. She turned to face him.

'I had wished for you to stay longer than the others.'

'Oh?'

'Yes. I wished you to see my realm, to appreciate it and all it has to offer.'

Jareth let out a breath. 'I had hoped for as much.'

'And do you? Appreciate it?'

He was smiling again, soft and dangerous, his hands reaching to cup her face. 'And all it has to offer...'

He caressed her cheek, a silken touch; one hand slipped into her hair, twisting deep into the roots and his lips pressed against the side of her neck. Her eyes drifted closed, body taut with desire. Her neck arched under his mouth, her throat willingly exposed to his ministrations, to the fingers that played over the wild humming of her pulse, that found the soft hollow at the base of her skull, that slowly moved lower.

Too late did she realise those skilful fingers had worked the clasp. She tore away from him, tried to grab for the six-pointed amulet that hung from his grasp. His face was wildly alive; he shook his head, tutted at her.

'Oh dear, so very easily distracted. I must confess, I had expected better of you - one meets a worthy opponent so infrequently, and with your reputation... I'm a little disappointed.'

'Give it back.'

'You'll get it back.' He showed her his teeth; his eyes were as cold as a winter storm. 'I merely require its use for a moment, just enough to unlock one of the Gateways and I'll be on my way. Not that I'm not grateful for your hospitality' -his lips curled- 'I wouldn't want you to think me- What was it? Ah yes, unappreciative.'

Mírthíêl held herself still, chin high and proud. 'Is your desire for the eternal light so very great?'

He laughed then and she hated the sound.

'I have no desire for it at all.' His eyes took her in again, thoughtfully this time. 'Strange. I'd have thought you'd be more perceptive, but then we are self-deceivers all. No, my dear, I am not yearning for the eternal light; I'm going home.'

Now it was Mírthíêl who laughed. 'Home? For what?'

He held the key up in his hand, spinning it between his fingers like a conjurer; it caught the sun-rays, sending flecks of light dancing across the walls and floor. 'For the life I have. For my lands and my people.'

Her head tilted back and she looked at him down half-closed eyes. 'And the mortal girl?'

She saw his teeth again and his predator's heart showing in his eyes. 'A word of advice,' he said silkily, 'do not speak of her.'

The breeze caught at her hair, played across her skin, leaving a tang of brine and a gritty, salty residue in its wake. 'But she is mortal. She will wither. The span of their lives is so very short-'

His hand was at her throat again, a tight hold that stopped her breath and his face was close to hers, pale and perfect and merciless. 'You can't say you weren't warned. Do not speak of her.' She gasped helplessly for air that did not reach her lungs until he released her and she stumbled, dragging the breath down deep. She glared at him hatefully, then righted herself, head still held high.

'Very well,' she said, coughed, cleared her throat, continued: 'very well. But what else? Would you be content to be diminished? To live as a subject in your sister's court?'

It was only a moment but she saw the hesitation, the reflexive tightening of his hand around the amulet-key.

'You know as well as I what becomes of a kingdom without a ruler. Do you know how long you have been here, Jareth? In terms of your world, I mean, not mine? And you are a master of time, you aware of its vagaries, even if you are no longer its master. Your kingdom without a ruler is no kingdom at all; your sister is no fool, she will do what is needed to be done. So. Will it suffice? Will your mortal love be enough in the face of the power you no longer have?' She took a step towards him. 'You think you know what power is, but what you have known is nothing to what I offer. You wish to be restored to all that you were? I can make you more than you ever dreamed - yes, even more than the dreams of the Goblin King!'

There was a strange smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 'Do you offer me my dreams, lady?'

'Yes. Your dreams and far, far more.' Another step; she was so close to him now. 'You cannot go back. Your choice is between the eternal light and a lfe by my side.'

His head tilted. 'Perhaps I would prefer the eternal light.'

Sh smiled, hearing the lie. 'My realm extends beyond the lands you see here. It is a kingdom that is the equal, that is greater than any kingdom beyond the waters. And you could be its master. You wish to be restored to what you were, I can make you more than that. My power, my kingdom, that is what I offer.' So close she could feel his breath against her lips. 'What say you to that?'

* * *

The guards who had been stationed outside her door lay sprawled on the floor, chins on their chests, snoring heavily. The same sleeping draught, Sarah wondered, or something even stronger? She did not ask, but stepped over them carefully, and followed the Queen along the long corridor.

The castle was a strangely silent place. It wasn't that sound was muffled, it was simply that it did not exist. No chatter from distant sources, no tramp or patter of feet, no bursts of song, none of the sounds with which she had come to associate a busy household.

Consequently, each of her own steps seemed preternaturally loud to her ears. Sarah tried to step lightly, flinched as the heavy heels of her boots caught against the floor. She raised herself on tiptoe, moved with the exaggerated care of one trying to be quiet and was so concentrated on her task that she did not notice the woman in front of her had stopped until she bumped into her. The collision knocked the Queen off balance slightly; she staggered forward, righted herself, pulled back against the wall and threw Sarah a blazing glare.

'I'm-'

'Sh!'

At the Queen's gesture, Sarah fell silent and she too flattened herself against the wall. Their corridor intersected with another; Sarah could just make out a little of what lay around the corner: more of the same stone walls, more of the same mirrors. And the faint patter of paws on the bare floor. She sucked in a breath and hoped that no-one else could hear how loudly her heart was beating. The soft fall of delicate pads and the scratch of claws. Then a sleek silver snout and a pair of pale eyes.

Silverfox stopped, ears pricked, his nose quivering as he tested the air.

Move on, Sarah begged silently, don't notice we're here, just keep moving. She imagined herself tiny, unnoticeable, invisible, as though her imaginings could make it so. She closed her eyes, opened them and he was still there, the pale eyes probing the dimly lit corridors, peering into the shadows. Sarah held her breath. He started moving again, suddenly, padding away into the darkness until they could no longer hear him. Sarah released the breath and it shook through her body.

'We must hurry,' the Queen murmured. Her shoulders sagged with relief and fear.

'How much further?'

'Not far. But keep quiet!'

More unnecessary advice, Sarah thought, but kept the thought to herself. She followed, so closely that she almost trod on the Queen's trailing skirts, winning herself another glare of infuriated reproach. The path they followed was as maze-like as the one that had taken Sarah to the throne room and equally as lacking distinguishing features. How long would it take to learn the routes through this place, when there were no markers? Years spent wandering through this house of shadow and mirror seemed to be a very particular kind of hell.

They turned off into yet another corridor but this one was shorter and marked by a large door set into the stone. The guard next to it sat with his back against the wall, head nodding on his breast. Was the whole castle asleep? she wondered, like Sleeping Beauty; Sarah remembered Aurora and her bed of snakes and suppressed a shudder.

The Queen pressed at the door and it swung slowly inwards leaving a dark mouth that they passed into. A small circular chamber and the start of a spiral stairway. They started the climb. The steps, as with everything else, were stone, steep and worn smooth as glass. Sarah steadied herself against the wall, grateful for the roughness of the cladding that offered something to cling to. Up, up through tight turnings. The occasional slit of an aperture allowed in a little light, cold fingers of moonlight that illumined only a few steps ahead. Her legs ached with the strain of the climb, the muscles starting to burn with the exertion. If she could stop for a few moments, catch her breath - but if she stopped she may not be able to get herself started again. Still up. Her breath was tearing in her chest, her limbs leaden. Somewhere above her a door opened; the light was so bright it dazzled like the sun and cold air bit her face. She saw the Queen silhouetted against the stars and dragged herself up the last few stairs.

They had emerged at the top of a tower, the highest one. The wind tugged at her hair, found all the entrances to her clothing and nipped at her skin. It stung her eyes and she blinked rapidly, scrubbing at them with the back of her wrist. They stood on a small platform and at one edge was a large mirror, its surface smooth, undimmed and surrounded by dark iron.

'Is that the portal?' Sarah asked.

'No, it is the conduit.'

Sarah wrapped her arms around herself, a futile barrier against the bitter cold. She could see little of the lands that lay below the castle, just the occasional light showing in the darkness. But under the clear purity of the moonlight, she could see the mountains that surrounded them. Bare, the colour of ash, only a few spindly trees stood on the upper slopes, their trunks bent under the force of the prevailing wind.

'I thought there'd be more,' she said.

'More what?'

'Huh?' Sarah blinked at her, shook herself. 'Sorry. I thought that there'd be more trees on the mountains.'

The Queen followed her gaze. 'There were, once.'

Sarah studied her. 'Your lands really are dying?'

'Yes.'

'Because you can't- Because there is no heir?'

A moment's wildness in those clear grey eyes and then her face tightened again. 'Yes.'

Sarah shook her head. 'I don't understand that.'

The Queen sighed, and spoke as thought repeating something she had learnt by heart long ago. 'A ruler and his lands are one. They sustain each other. Our line is dying out and so with it, the kingdom. When my husband passes, everything that remains will diminish. It will all pass into air and dust and be no more than a memory. Not even that.'

'I'm sorry.'

'There was a child, once,' she continued, her voice soft. 'A son. He lived for fifteen days; that isn't much of a life, is it? Nothing much to remember, but I do remember him. The feel of him in my arms. Strange that you can love something that was in the world for so short a time. I would have liked children, many children; not just for our lands-' Her eyes raked the stars. 'I would have liked that.'

Sarah thought of all the unwanted children in the Aboveground and felt an old flicker of outrage at the injustice of the universe. The unfairness. 'I'm sorry,' she said again. The Queen turned her head, regarded her dispassionately. 'What will happen to you? When they find out what's happened, I mean.'

She shrugged and smiled bitterly. 'I am still the Queen. I doubt there is much that can be done that would make things any worse.' She paused. 'Well, we should start if you wish to leave.'

She moved past Sarah, walked up to the huge circle of mirror, started to manipulate it into position. Sarah moved to help her and between them they pushed and pulled at the heavy surround, using the weights and levers that controlled its movement. Slowly it swung around, the face turning up to the stars until it caught the light of one and the light itself bounced off the surface, scoring a line across the night, a thin band of silver that stretched across the mountains.

'There.' For the first time there was a smile on the Queen's lips; her pale face flushed with exertion - she was exquisite.

'There what?'

Eyes rolled in impatience. 'Your path, you will ride it to the portal and then...' She shrugged. 'Then you will find what lies beyond it.'

Sarah stared at her, turned her gaze back to the ribbon of light. She reached out a hand, touched it, felt its resistance and heard the faint hum of music, like fingers that had been slid over strings. It was insane, she thought, completely insane.

'Do you wish to go or not?' The Queen demanded, her voice a low hiss. 'If you don't go now, I doubt you will have another opportunity.'

It would not, after all, be the first act of insanity she had committed. Not the first leap of faith.

Sarah scrambled up onto the iron scaffolding that acted as a kind of launching point. Tentatively she placed one foot on the bright line that shimmered and shivered like quicksilver. It would take her weight, as long as she could keep her balance. She turned back, met the gaze of the Queen and felt a pang of sympathy and regret. 'Thank you,' she said. The proud head nodded, once.

Sarah stepped fully onto the narrow path, felt herself wavering. She held her arms out reflexively to steady herself and took a few steps until she realised she didn't need to: the wind at her back, she was pushed along the path. No, not pushed, but pulled: something was drawing her on and the wind simply propelled her. It was like skating, sliding effortlessly along the band of light. The wind whipped at her, stars blurring as she picked up speed. She didn't feel the cold, just the sudden surge of joy, the euphoria of flight. She laughed out loud and sped through the night.

* * *

A faint breeze stirred the fallen leaves around the table and the folds of her robes. Mírthíêl sat, her fingers playing with the key at her bosom. She stared absently at a point in the middle-distance until a flicker of movement caught her attention. She raised her head, looked at the mirror curiously. Her reflection was distorted, more so than usual, she noted, unclear, as though a film had dropped before the flat plane. Not before it, she decided after some moments, the lack of clarity came from behind. She rose, took a few steps and peered into the depths. The mist behind the glass had grown thicker, swirling in dense tendrils, trying to resolve itself into something still just beyond its edges. There was music, faint and far off, snatches of a song that she had once heard, a refrain from a time before memory. The mirror's surface had become liquid, rippling, thin wisps, smoke-like, drifting out towards her. She could see nothing of herself now in the frenzied mass but there was a figure, deep in the heart, a dark shape that came closer, slowly solidifying. Mírthíêl moved back, and the figure stepped through the mist, through the heavy frame. The rippling subsided, scrolling across the surface until it finally stilled. Mírthíêl stared at the extraordinary creature who had invaded her lands. A woman, in shabby black clothes, dark hair unkempt and windblown around her face and eyes that burned like stars.

'Who are you? How dare you enter my realm without my permission?'

Shabby or not, the woman held herself like a queen, her shoulders back and her head held high and proud.

'I am Firedancer,' she said. 'I am Mistress of Winds, Lady of Starlight. I am Sarah Williams and I have come for the Goblin King.'

For a moment there was silence, there was a breath that was held and time itself that waited.

'Well, well,' Mírthíêl said softly, disbelief robbing her of her customary control. Her eyes wandered over Sarah and still she could not quite believe. Her lips quirked into a half-smile. 'Well, Sarah Williams, you have come too late. He has gone.'


	17. Strangers When We Meet

'Gone- What do you- Gone where?'

Certainty turned to incomprehension, hope severing from her soul.

A hand - long-fingered, well-shaped - fluttered gracefully through the air, gesturing to the doors set either side of the mirror. 'He made the choice to move beyond my realm - a binding choice, one from which he cannot return.'

'When?'

'But a few moments.'

Sarah sagged under the weight of her failure, the crush of it crueller than the earth that had once swallowed her. A few moments. If she had been a little faster, a little smarter, if he had waited a little longer. If he had waited. If he had not left her-

She folded in on herself, her body boneless and buckling and she crumpled, sitting on the ground and holding her head in her hands. The numbness was the black void she had managed to contain but now it spread, now it engulfed her. Or threatened to. Sarah pulled away from it, made it something other from herself; another thing to happen to someone who was not her. She could feel the turquoise gaze on her, unyielding and heartless.

'Okay' -she stood, scrubbed at her eyes, ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing it down- 'okay, where exactly did he go?'

Beneath its gentleness, the voice was as hard as the eyes. 'As I said, he made a choice to leave-' She broke off, curiosity too much. 'How did you get here?'

Sarah smiled wearily. 'Through dangers untold, and hardships unnumbered.'

The eyes narrowed, puzzled. 'What?'

'Nothing.' She ran her hands over her again, feeling the tangles snag under her fingers. 'Please... Please, tell me where he went.'

There was a pause before Mírthíêl spoke again. 'Where he is I cannot say precisely. One of the Gateways leads to the eternal light, the other... It is an in-between place of no particular name. It is in part similar to the place that you mortals, I believe, term Limbo. I have heard say that it offers the possibility of returning to what had once been, but I don't know. No-one has ever chosen to pass through that door before now.'

One spark of hope, tiny, flickered, caught, spread through the emptiness. 'Before now? You mean that's the door that Jareth chose?'

'Yes...' Mírthíêl observed her, her head tilted. She frowned slightly. 'And he chose it for you. There was something unnerving about the intensity of her gaze. Sarah's chin lifted.

'You find that strange?'

One eyebrow arched, lips pushing together momentarily. Then her hands spread and a laugh that held little true mirth passed her lips. 'I have seen much of the vagaries of so many beings. Nothing surprises me.'

Sarah gestured towards the massive pair of doors. 'Can I go through?'

'You would follow him still? Even now?'

'What else can I do? I can't go back, even if I wanted to: I have to go on. You said yourself he's only a little ahead of me, I should be able to catch him up easily.'

'Easily... But you are mortal. You should not be even here in the Amaranthine Realms, much less pass beyond these to the paths of the immortals. No, this I cannot permit.'

The hardest battles were behind her, but Sarah felt her strength failing for this one. She rallied herself, kept her spine straight as she regarded the woman before her. Negotiating with a block of marble would be easier, she was sure. 'But they did. The Quaternion.'

Her face paled, in anger not fear. 'I see.'

'They have permitted my travels to these lands-' She pressed her lips together. They had granted her permission and for that she was grateful but for everything else ... for that she hated them. 'They gave permission and I have found my way here, through earth and fire and water and air. All I ask now, Lady Mírthíêl, is that you let me pass through the Gateway.'

The turquoise hardened further, glittering dangerously. 'How do you know my name?'

Always questions. Nothing could simply be done, there were always questions. 'I heard it from a friend. Ambrosius.'

Mírthíêl frowned. 'I know of no such person.'

'But- Oh, wait. That came later. It was Emrys. Myrddin Emrys.'

'Emrys...' Her lips were bloodless; for a moment her gaze moved, out beyond the sea, beyond even the horizon and the unseen places after that. Her eyes came back to Sarah and her lips curved. 'Yes, I understand... Well. I am hardly one to stand in the way of so great a power. And a journey such as yours has been should not go unrewarded.'

Her movements now were quick, brisk. She pulled the chain with the amulet-key over her head and strode towards one of the Gateways, the hem of her dress sighing against the stone floor and the scattering of leaves. 'Come.' Another smile, she held a hand out to Sarah.

Sarah took a step forward, stopped. There was cunning behind those blue eyes, a cold viciousness that could not be wholly concealed.

'Come!'

The hand grasped Sarah's arm. She tried to pull free but the grip was horribly strong, an iron vice impossible to break. And Sarah tried to break it but was still pulled, stumbling forward. The key fitted into the lock, turned smoothly and the great slab of bronze began to swing outward.

There was light and music, a heavenly warmth that caressed her face and called her onward. Sarah braced herself, jarring her feet against the ground and feeling them still slip helplessly. Her arm was still grasped and another hand at her back pushing her forward and Mírthíêl's voice in her ear assuring her that she would be rewarded...

There was another sound, the rush of robes and another pair of strong hands that pulled at her, pulled her back away from the open door. Sarah stumbled, landed heavily, was winded for a moment and took in the scene with dazed eyes as she fought for breath.

Mírthíêl was off-balance, her lovely face contorted and she grappled with a figure veiled in white. The key was torn from her hands and her cry of rage turned to one of fear as a hard push sent her falling though the doorway. The white figure grabbed the edges of the mighty door, pulled at it until it started the swing back. It settled into place with a reverberating thud and the lock mechanism whirred and clicked and was silent.

Still sprawled on the floor, Sarah watched as her unlikely saviour dusted off its hands, then picked its way across the floor to her. A firm grip pulled her up.

'Thanks.' Her legs felt weak and uncooperative. She sat down on one of the chairs. The little figure sat opposite her, placed the key on the table, then pushed the veil away from her face. She looked so young, Sarah thought with surprise; under the heavy make-up she looked little more than a child.

'My name is Tiéra,' she said primly. 'And you're Sarah.'

'Yes, I- How-'

She sighed. 'Jare- His Majesty said your name often.' A sniff. 'Very often.'

It had become routine, this disapproval of the Goblin King and the mortal girl. Sarah shook it off.

'Are you one of the Sisters of Lenity?'

There was pride then, in the tilt of her head. 'Yes. I have not been with the Order very long but I am one of them; and I am skilled at healing.'

And like most immortals, distinctly lacking in humility. Tiéra was leaning forward, studying Sarah's face with undisguised curiosity. 'I've never seen a mortal before,' she said after a moment. 'I thought that you'd look different but you just look ordinary.'

Sarah laughed slightly. 'Sorry to disappoint you.'

The girl shrugged, her filmy robes stirring in the breeze. 'She lied to you - he didn't go through that Gateway.'

'Yeah, I figured.'

'I saw what happened,' Tiéra continued meditatively. 'She wanted him to stay here with her - she offered him all sorts of things: power and status and even herself but he didn't want any of it. She was very upset.'

'Did she try to shove him through the other Gateway, too?' Sarah asked; it was an unlikely image: she couldn't imagine anyone forcing Jareth to do anything he didn't want to.

'No. He'd taken the key from her and when he wouldn't give it back and he wouldn't stay with her she cursed him and said that he deserved the eternal dark if that is what he wanted so badly.' She paused. 'I don't think anyone had ever said no to her before.'

'I think you're right.'

She was a funny little thing, Sarah thought, like a child playing at being a grown-up. But there was a worldliness about her, something a little arch and knowing. The fluttering draperies were rearranged and her hands then clasped in her lap. She looked at Sarah expectantly.

'Did you really see the Quaternion?'

'Yes.'

'Are they really appalling?'

Sarah laughed. It spilled out helplessly and her shoulders shook. 'Yes... Yes, they are. Look, are you going to get into trouble? For' -she glanced at the beaten bronze door- 'y'know.'

Tiéra thought about it. 'I don't know. Perhaps. Perhaps not. She broke the rules and they don't like that.'

'They?'

She rolled her eyes. 'The Quaternion.'

'Oh. Right.'

'Besides, she had been here for a very long time. And she wasn't very nice. Perhaps the lands will be given to someone better, now,' she added brightly.

Ding-dong! The witch is dead, Sarah thought with another flicker of amusement.

'Are you still going to follow Jareth?'

'Yes, I am,' Sarah said, and eased herself up from her chair. She looked at Tiéra curiously and with a hint of suspicion. 'Tiéra, did he offer you anything?'

The girl met her gaze blankly. 'Like what?'

'Oh... Nothing. Just checking. Do you know how to unlock the door?'

There was another sniff and an increased hautiness. 'It can't be that difficult,' she muttered.

She trotted to the door and inspected the lock, Sarah trailing after her; Tiéra turned the key in her hands, fitted it experimentally into the star-shaped aperture. She twisted it, grunting with the effort as the metal scraped slowly. Sarah placed her hands over hers, adding her strength. It moved, inch by inch, the mechanism grinding stiffly after so long a neglect. When it finally gave under their combined effort the metal shuddered and the door began to open, its screeching hinges setting Sarah's teeth on edge. They both winced at the sound. When it had opened enough for them to see through, they both hovered on the threshold. There was no light, no music, no warmth. There was shifting darkness, damp and heavy, like a storm cloud waiting to burst.

Tiéra pulled back, looked at it uncertainly and then at Sarah. 'I don't know that this is a wise idea.'

Sarah had pulled her lower lip between her teeth, bit down on it, released it. 'Maybe not. But it can't be any worse than where I've already been.' She paused then, and smiled. 'Thanks, Tiéra.'

The girl nodded gravely and watched as Sarah passed through the Gateway, the dark swallowing her as soon as stepped into it. With some effort, Tiéra closed the door again, heaving the mighty metal slab into position. She stood with the key in her hand, judging its weight. It was a thing of beauty in its own right, its lines clean and precise and the metal smooth and gleaming from its long centuries of use. There had been patterns on the points once; she could just make out the remnants of fine etchings. The chain coiled sleekly in the palm of her hand, warm and surprisingly light.

The wind was picking up, the sky starting to cloud over; she shivered. Tiéra placed the key carefully on the table, replaced her veil and made her way back up the cliff towards the cloisters.

* * *

The mantle of darkness had, at first, been heavy, cool and damp against her cheek. She had walked through and over an insubstantial mass; the first sign of change had been the hardening of ground under her feet, then the scrunch and the slip of sand. Light pierced the cloud around her, dispersing it until it filled her vision and burned her eyes.

The sky above was vast, a washed-out blue that stretched unbroken in all directions. She walked across desert sand bleached white by the sun, no trace of any other living being, no footprints to follow. The wind banked the sand into dunes, rippling their faces; heat shimmered over the surface, a silvery illusion, a mirage of cool water that never materialised.

It was heat beyond her imagining, its fire so intense it weighed on her, every breath feeling thick. Within a few steps her body had been coated in sweat and that had already dried. All moisture had been leached from her body, sacrificed to the bone-dry air.

She had called his name at first, heard it echo and die across the dunes. She couldn't call out now: her lips were dry as paper, rough and cracked, her tongue felt swollen. There was no refuge from the sun and it was directly overhead; she could feel her skin burn and blister under its merciless rays.

One foot in front of the other. One more step. It became all she could think about, not with any goal anymore, not with any destination, just one more step.

The harsh light bounced off the pale sand; her eyes ached with it, a dull throb behind her eyeballs. She could barely keep them open, felt them watering with the pain of the sunlight and thought only of the loss of the precious moisture.

_One more step._

It was like walking against a mighty tide, trying to keep her limbs moving when they were so heavy. The empty world was dancing-

_One more step._

-sand and sky blurring into each other.

_One more-_

She stumbled.

_One._

She fell. The sand burned against her cheek, seared. If she had had the strength she would have pushed herself up but she had none left. And it didn't really burn all that badly. She could even find the all-consuming heat quite pleasant if she didn't really think about it. With her eyes closed a dark pool opened up at her feet and she slipped into it. She lay at the base of a dune and didn't notice the figure that stood on its crest and the shadow that fell across her face.

ooOoo

In the Halls of Stone, four figures who had kept their unseen eyes fixed on worlds beyond their confines lowered their heads. They had kept watch, they had seen all that occurred. Now it was over, and they knew all that they wished to.

ooOoo

Water trickled against her lips, cold and sweet. Sarah took a few drops at first, then more as the liquid soothed her parched throat; she drank deeply, vaguely aware of the hand that supported her head. Sated, she lay back. The shade was deep and cool. She opened her eyes and still squinted against the sun but it was, now, filtered through thick leaves that shivered in the breeze.

She lay on grass, she could feel the blades when she moved her fingers. A lovely spot, she decided; so much nicer than the desert. Why had she been in the desert? She frowned to herself. She had needed to take one more step-

Of course.

It had been an endless succession of one-more-steps.

She let out a long breath, turned her head and looked at the ragged stranger who sat beside her keeping watch, his face a dusty mask and his eyes mismatched. She looked at him. Wild hair the colour of the sand, his clothes crumpled, but his eyes; his eyes. She said his name, softly, tentative, fear still holding hope at bay. She said his name and he smiled at her. She threw herself at him, her ams around his neck. She felt the solidity of his body, the realness of him and rained fierce kisses on his face.

His hair was rough under her fingers; stubble dusted his jaw, the golden curve of his cheek. His body was hard planes, corded with muscle and alive. He was alive. Her heart beat under her hand, his skin warm. Her dry lips re-remembered the contours of his face: the hard high ridge of cheekbone, the sweep of his jaw, until his hand twisted deep into her hair, pulled her head down and his mouth claimed hers.

He took her in deeply, like a starving man who has suddenly been given the world. His embrace locked around her, holding her fast and she pressed herself closer still, feeling the pressure of flesh and bone and muscle, as though she could crawl inside his skin and never let him go. Her name was a prayer on his lips. He pulled her head back and stared into her face, eyes dancing with a feverish intensity.

'I heard you calling me. What are you doing here?'

'I came for you.' The words were scratchy in the back of her throat. The statement seemed so simple, so ridiculous.

He held her chin in the palm of his hand, his fingers light against her cheek. 'How?'

The Quaternion-

There was a flicker of suspicion in his eyes then, his face tightening.

-The agreement, Michael and Raphael; some of the story came out, half-sentences and words that faded. It was still too close, too raw, and yet, already, in the comfort of arms she had longed for, it began to recede.

'I can't- I don't think I want to talk about it now. It was all just one big test, wasn't it?'

Jareth let out a breath, his lips a hard line. 'Probably.'

'I knew it. Those bastards.' She shook her head. 'It doesn't matter; nothing matters any more, not now. I just want- I want-' Nerves that had been stretched so far for so long finally relaxed and with it fell the barriers she had constructed so carefully. She curled against him, her head in the curve of his shoulder and wept.

'Don't. Don't, my love, there's no need for that.' He wiped away her tears with his fingers.

Sarah breathed hard, trying to catch at the sobs. 'Haven't you ever heard of tears of joy?'

'So many better ways of expressing it,' he said softly; his hands traced patterns across her back.

She laughed, a soggy giggle. 'You have a one-track mind, you know that?'

Laughter rumbled through his chest, a low purr beneath her ear. 'Only for you.' He pressed his lips against the top of her head, held them there; his arms tightened around her.

Sarah sat up straighter, wiped her eyes. 'Why are you out here?'

'You know why.' Fire in his eyes and his heart written so clearly in his face.

'Yes, but I want to hear it.'

His head tilted, the colours of his eyes shifting. 'You would make me say it?'

Her hands linked at the back of his neck, her nails pressing lightly against his skin. 'Yes.'

'Very well. I would sooner spend eternity wandering the desert in search of you than spend it in the eternal light without you.'

There were times when his beauty broke her heart. She buried her face in the sand-roughened tendrils of his hair. 'I love you,' she whispered.

His voice was a melody, soft, lilting, a song to the siren calling him home. It coursed through her, finding the cracks and soothing them, putting her back together. Her eyes burned again, pressure behind them. No more tears, she decided, no more weeping, not even for joy. She was whole again. Sarah raised her head.

'Wandering through the desert for eternity, huh? It's a nice oasis you built yourself here.'

Jareth surveyed their surroundings with interest. Swaying trees ringed a patch of grass and a small pool, the desert still stretching out all around them. 'I didn't, it appeared when I found you.' He hesitated and a strange smile played around his lips. 'I couldn't have created it how ever badly I wanted to. I have no power, Sarah; I don't know that I will have it again. A long-lived being of no particular standing is all I may be from now on. You may come to regret your devotion.'

A pause.

'You Goddamn fool,' Sarah said calmly. 'Don't you know I don't care about any of that?'

He laughed then, his face alight and fierce. 'They are the fools - as though there is any obstacle that my Sarah can't overcome.'

'They.' Her eyes flashed. 'I'm sick to death of them. But they did say that if I could find you I could take you wherever I wanted.'

'Ah, did they now.'

'Stop that.' She arrested his wandering hand, imprisoning it between both of hers and ignored his silent protest. 'Behave. I want to go home but I've got no idea how to get us there.'

'Through that, probably.'

She followed his gaze toward the still pool. It lay serene, its surface barely stirred by the breeze. The memory of water filling her mouth, her eyes, her ears, dragging her down; for a moment it was everywhere and she recoiled.

'I-'

He took her hand, pulling her up. They stood at the edge. 'Look,' he said.

The water was so clear she could see to the bottom, then beyond that, to the edge of something else: a hillside that gave way to a riot of pathways and dead ends, then a ramshackle city and beyond that a castle.

'I don't think I can.'

'Don't you trust me?'

She met his gaze. 'Of course I do.'

'Well then.' He moved suddenly, lifting her, settling her weight in his arms. 'Don't say I never do anything for you.'

Her lips twitched. 'You're very generous.' His eyes narrowed. She smiled at him and pushed down the residual panic. 'Have you noticed that most our big adventures end with me jumping off something into a very uncertain landing?'

Jareth considered this. 'Yes,' he said mildly, 'I had noticed.' He stepped forward and took them into the pool.

* * *

The last earth tremor had resulted in a crack that ran the length of the throne room. A fine seam of dust trickled out intermittently, piling on the floor. Heavy rain had flooded the plains three days ago, before freezing when winter had regained its grip. The sun, when it could be seen, was bloated and red, the ageing star of a dying land; nights started earlier and ended later, always mantled in cloud that no moonlight could pierce.

Toby sat quietly in one corner, huddled over parchment and pens and wax, writing stories for himself before they disappeared. Every now and then he glanced at Delaine but she did not look back. She sat on the throne, her hands grasping the arms as though they were the only things holding her steady.

Gaunt and grey, her body was wracked with surges of power she could no longer control. She ground her teeth together, tried to stop their chattering. The weight of the world pressed against the fractures, her will splintering under the pressure.

In the depression in the floor before the throne there was a gurgle, a thick sucking sound and then water started to fill it. It rose, churning, then erupted, a fountain that soared almost to the ceiling, its spray hitting her face. It receded, the waters draining and two people, wet and dishevelled, clambered out of the hollow, both pushing back wet hair that clung to their faces. One dark, one fair, both breathless.

Delaine blinked slowly, stared at them, sensed herself on a precipice between ultimate despair and salvation.

And after that came the tumult that she experienced through a haze, a spectator in the events of others: Toby running across the room, jumping into Sarah's embrace; from somewhere - had they been there all along? - Sir Didmus and Ambrosius, his black eyes shining.

It was a dream she had dreamed before. Then Jareth handed Toby back to Sarah, stood before her and smiled slightly, his eyes raking her face and his expression an equal mix of shock and uncertainty, but still wry amusement behind it all.

'Should I bow to my little sister?'

'A king bows to no-one,' she said, forming the words carefully, with effort, feeling the cost of each.

His arm around her waist, he raised her from the throne.

There was always music in the Underground, even if only few could hear it. Of late that music had been discordant, a harsh sound that tore at the fabric of its creation. It had grown louder, its frenzied rhythms more insistent; it filled her consciousness, seeping out into the Labyrinth and the lands surrounding it until everything was jarred and shaken by it.

She felt its rhythm quieten, its violence slow to a reverberating hum and the threads of magic that bound the Underground sang in response, their counterpoint resounding through the air. No dream this time; this was reality and now that it had come, finally, it was almost beyond her believing.

They stood at the window, and Jareth's supporting arm released her abruptly. His face blazed. 'What have you done to my Labyrinth?'

'The best I could.' She leant heavily against the stone archway.

'Your best...' His hands moved instinctively, a crystal appearing on the up-turned palm of one. Perfect, fragile, potent. He stared at it and she saw faint surprise and immense relief flood his face.

The jumble of voices hadn't stopped, Toby's high-pitched tones punctuating the swelling flow of sound. Later there would be time for talk, for explanation and jubilation. Later. For now she was content. Already the crushing weight that had threatened to consume her had lessened, already the world was righting itself.

They stood together, and watched the crystal float out over the Underground.


	18. Our Love Song Could Fly Over Mountains

Jareth observed the mass of fallen stone with detachment, or something approaching that at least. Snow had blanketed it, rendering it an irregular shape from which occasional rough edges protruded.

'Delaine said she'd fix it,' Toby's voice said behind him, 'but she never did.'

He glanced over his shoulder. 'I dare say she had other things on her mind.'

Toby kicked aimlessly at a clump of snow, sending a shower of powdery crystals into the air. 'I suppose...'

Jareth did not ask Toby why he had come to this grim stretch of passageway, nor did he send him back to the castle. He ran his hands over the rough bricks that flanked the hole that had been torn in the wall, felt the broken melody that still vibrated through them, sticking and jarring at the point of their anguish - dissonance that scarred the hearing of those who could hear it. Jareth heard it, and he crouched over the fall of stone, un-gloved fingers tracing the outlines.

Toby approached him cautiously. Jareth was murmuring something, so low it was just beyond hearing, a muted conversation. More a negotiation, perhaps, as though he were trying to reach an agreement with the splinters and shattered pieces.

He rose, pulled on his gloves.

Beneath the snow, something shivered, dislodging the compacted white mass. The stones shifted on the ground, rolled over each other, ground together. Toby watched in fascination as they started to move faster: they reached the place in the wall of which they had once formed a part, the larger pieces settling into new positions at the base. Bit by bit, the pieces of brick and stone reformed themselves, the gargoyle face providing the centre stone of an archway.

The construction looked a little unsettled in its newness, but strong. Jareth ran his hands over it approvingly, lingering over the words that had inscribed themselves into the face of the stone.

'What does it say?'

'It's a tribute to the dead - written in the Goblin dialect.' He paused. 'I'm always astonished that they can read in any language at all.'

A guiding hand lightly on Toby's shoulder, they started back towards the castle. Toby said nothing. After the exuberance caused by their return, the child had been unusually quiet. Worryingly so, according to Sarah. He stayed near them at all times, stayed out of trouble - equally worrying. He watched them carefully, as though afraid that either Jareth or Sarah or both would vanish when he wasn't looking.

It would pass.

The route they followed was longer than was strictly necessary, but they had the time; and time, Jareth knew, healed many things.

'I understand you have been learning to ride,' Jareth said.

'Yeah! Rajad's been teaching me; he's-' Toby caught himself in his sudden enthusiasm; he shrugged with an attempt at nonchalance. 'He's not so bad, I guess.'

Jareth laughed. 'I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear that.'

Toby slipped his hand into the king's and they continued along the path.

* * *

Delaine pushed open the door, paused for a moment to take in the room and its disarray.

'You always were hopeless at packing.'

Rajad straightened, still scowling, dropped the handful of shirts into the open case. 'It's either this or letting Goblins do it.'

She smiled slightly. 'I think even they might make a better job of it.' She crossed the room. 'If you fold them up-'

'Leave it. It doesn't matter.' He took the bundled fabric from her hands, dropped it back where she had found it. She watched the line of his shoulders, the coil of energy along his spine. He turned and his eyebrows rose, as though he were surprised she was still there. 'You look better today,' he said after a moment.

'I am better.' Her recovery had been slow, her strength returning only a little at a time over the weeks since Jareth's return. Now she was restored, Mistress of the Morning once more - save for the listlessness that she could not shake. 'I thought you might stay a little longer.'

'I have neglected my duties at home for too long.'

'Rizan is hardly incapable.'

'No, but he has his own concerns; it's unfair to burden him any longer than is necessary. Besides, as you have said, you are better now.' He smiled pleasantly. 'You don't need me anymore.'

Delaine held his gaze, felt something wither, something so fragile she had barely been aware of its existence. She sighed. 'No.'

She left him, retreating to her own rooms. They held the chill of late afternoon and blue-grey shadows. Delaine stared out of the window, standing so close her breath frosted the pane, obscuring the spread of the Labyrinth and the rise of hills beyond. She closed her eyes, rested her forehead against the cool glass and whispered her love to the fading sun.

'You wanted me to come after you, didn't you?'

She started when Rajad's voice sounded behind her; she raised her head, making out his reflection in the glass.

'When?'

'When you left. I suppose you had the right to expect it.' He sounded reasonable, the calm discussion of a puzzle.

'Oh.' She ran her fingers along the windowsill, feeling the gritty dust beneath. She brushed them off. 'Well, it was a long time ago. It doesn't really matter anymore what I wanted then, does it?'

Still the same dispassionate tone; he was motionless behind her, his posture as rigid as hers. 'I suppose it would be too late if I came after you now.'

Delaine released a long breath that she seemed to have been holding for time beyond measure. 'The mortals have a saying.' She could almost hear his eyes rolling. 'Better late than never.' She turned to him then. His green eyes snapped with emerald fire and he raised a hand, one finger following the curve of her cheek, his touch almost imperceptibly light. It speared through her. She caught hold of his hand, pressing her lips against it. A strong hand, sinewy, work-roughened skin. He pulled it away from her grasp, catching her chin, forcing her head up; his gaze was fierce.

'No. I would not have you humble.'

'Nor I you,' she said. Triumphant, both, at last.

When dusk came they did not bother to light the lamps. They still had not bothered when night had fallen completely; the moonlight coming through the windows was enough to see by - enough for their purposes. And they had been undisturbed until a discreet tap sounded at the door. Rajad grumbled - grumbled louder when her warm body slipped away from his. Delaine pulled her dressing gown on, holding it closed and opened the door fractionally.

'Apparently Jareth wants to know if we're coming down to dinner,' she called over her shoulder.

'Tell them we don't want any bloody dinner. Tell them to leave us alone.'

She relayed the message and then returned to the bed and her beloved's waiting arms.

* * *

It was the music that called her to the window, a flute's lilting notes repeating, stopping, repeating. The full moon was fat, its light sculpting the lines of the castle gardens and the Labyrinth beyond. Sarah peered into the silvered shadows; the musician, when she located him, was a familiar figure. Still having trouble with his tune, he would break off from the attempted melody and glare at his flute. Sensing her watching of him, perhaps, Ambrosius looked up, meeting Sarah's gaze. She caught the flash of teeth, even from that distance knew the amusement in the depths of his black eyes; he inclined his head to her and she smiled in response.

The tune was taken up again. Behind that was another sound, the constant trickle of water. Winter's grip had finally broken and the thaw had set in, ice melting and sinking into the softening earth. The air had lost its raw edge, no longer biting unprotected skin; spring would not be held be back much longer and with it would come new life in the Underground. Sarah folded her hands across her stomach and smiled to herself. Yes, there would be much new life in the Underground this year.

A warm, steady presence behind her and she leaned back into Jareth's embrace. He had been flying. He smelt of the night, of winter-cool glades under moonlight and the edges of dreams. Like her, he looked out across the chiaroscuro landscape wrought in silver and black under the crystal moon. His breath stirred the dark fall of her hair.

'You will love it in the spring,' he said.

Sarah turned her head, studied his face, caught his lips briefly with hers, and smiled again. 'I love it now.'


End file.
